‘What has that to say to anything?’ ‘Nothing at all,’ smiled Lucy nervously. He was content to watch her accepting compliments and gaudy bouquets full of red roses, white carnations, and purple statice. Here goes. Frankly, it is the funniest thing which has ever happened to me in my life. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once.
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