Maude, Jack, and the good Owen performed a triumphant pas de trois.
‘You have done splendidly, Mrs. Crosse, splendidly!’ cried Owen. ‘I never heard a better day’s work in my life. Now, if you will give me your cheque and wait here, I will go over and settle everything.’
‘And please bring the bond back with you,’ said Maude.
So it was that Frank, coming down upon the morning of his birthday, perceived a pretty silver cigarette-box laid in front of his plate.
‘Is this for me, my darling?’
‘Yes, Frank, a wee present from your wife.’
‘How sweet of you! I never saw such a lovely case. Why, there’s something inside it.’
‘Cigarettes, I suppose.
‘No, it is a paper of some kind. “Hotspur Insurance Company.” Good Lord, I never seem for one instant to be able to shake that infernal thing off! How on earth did it get in there? What’s this?—“I hereby guarantee to you—” What’s this? Maude, Maude, what have you been doing?’
‘Dear old boy,’ she cried, as she put her arms round him. ‘Dear old boy! Oh, I do feel so happy!’