"Blessums 'ittle finger! It shall lift it and have 'ums Reggie
jumping through. . . ." He broke off and tendered George a manly
apology. "Sorry, old top! Forgot myself for the moment. Shan't
occur again! Have another chicken or an eclair or some soup or
something!"
Over the cigars Reggie became expansive.
"Now that you've lifted the frightful weight of the mater off my
mind, dear old lad," he said, puffing luxuriously, "I find myself
surveying the future in a calmer spirit. It seems to me that the
best thing to do, as regards the mater and everybody else, is
simply to prolong the merry wedding-trip till Time the Great Healer
has had a chance to cure the wound. Alice wants to put in a week or
so in Paris. . . ."
"Paris!" murmured the bride ecstatically.
"Then I would like to trickle southwards to the Riviera. . ."
"If you mean Monte Carlo, dear," said his wife with gentle
firmness, "no!"
"No, no, not Monte Carlo," said Reggie hastily, "though it's a
great place. Air--scenery--and what not! But Nice and Bordighera
and Mentone and other fairly ripe resorts. You'd enjoy them. And
after that . . . I had a scheme for buying back my yacht, the jolly
old Siren, and cruising about the Mediterranean for a month or so.
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