‘That’s all right. We shall see it through together.’
Hale was a despondent man, though the most loyal of friends, and he spoke in a despondent way. His gloomy manner, the London drizzle, and the nervousness proper to the occasion, were all combining to make Frank more and more wretched. Fortunately Jack Selby burst like a gleam of sunshine into the room. The sight of his fresh-coloured smiling face—or it may have been some reminder of Maude which he found in it—brought consolation to the bridegroom.
‘How are you, Crosse? How do, Hale? Excuse my country manners! The old Christmas-tree in the hall wanted to send for you, but I knew your number. You’re looking rather green about the gills, old chap.’
‘I feel a little chippy to-day.’
‘That’s the worst of these cheap champagnes. Late hours are bad for the young. Have a whisky and soda with me. No? Hale, you must buck him up, for they’ll all be down on you if you don’t bring your man up to time in the pink of condition. We certainly did ourselves up to the top hole last night. Couldn’t face your breakfast, eh? Neither could I. A strawberry and a bucket of soda-water.’
‘How are they all at the Langham?’ asked Frank eagerly.
‘Oh, splendid! At least I haven’t seen Maude. She’s been getting into parade order. But mother is full of beans. We had to take her up one link in the curb, or there would have been no holding her.’
Frank’s eyes kept turning to the slow-moving minute-hand. It was not ten o’clock yet.
‘Don’t you think that I might go round to the Langham and see them?’
‘Good Lord, no! Clean against regulations. Stand by his head, Hale! Wo, boy, steady!’