"You mustn't think—" began the Doctor.
"I must plead guilty"—Miss Marty poured out a glassful—"if its name suggests a foreign origin. You men, I know, profess a preference for foreign wines; and so, humorously, I hit on the name of Fra Angelico, from the herb angelica, which is its main ingredient. In reality, as I can attest, it is English to the core."
The Doctor lifted his glass and set it down again.
"You will join me?" he asked, pointing to the decanter and temporising.
"Pardon me. I indulge but occasionally: when I have a cold."
"And the Major?"
"He pleads habit. He says he is wedded to the vintages of France and Spain. 'What?' I rally him, 'when those two nations are at war with us? And you call yourself a patriot?' He permits these railleries."
"He is a man in a thousand!"
"There is no man like him!"
"If we exclude a certain resemblance—"