"Touch and go!" laughed Percival. "I might easily have missed it." He turned to Mr. Hannaford. "Mr. Hannaford, you'll have to stay a bit when we get home—have tea—and then drive me over to the Manor. We're talking about Lord Burdon and the festivities. Great doings, eh?"
"Why, great doings is the word for it," said Mr. Hannaford. "Bless my eighteen stun proper if it ain't. Everybody invited a score o' miles round. Going to roast a nox whole, marquees in the grounds, poles with ribbons on 'em from the church to the Manor—"
"From the church! What, is there going to be a service?"
"Service!" said Mr. Hannaford. "Why, how's he going to be married without?"
Percival almost jumped to his feet. "Married! Is he going to be married?"
"What, don't you know, partner?"
"I've not had letters for months. Married! Good lord, old Rollo married! Why, that's tremendous. Ima, why ever didn't you tell me? Married! Whom to?"
Mr. Hannaford was enormously pleased at this excitement. "Give 'ee three guesses, partner."
Percival cried: "Why, I couldn't guess in a thousand. It fairly knocks me. Old Rollo going to be married! Go on—tell me!"
"Go on—guess," said Mr. Hannaford.