“Who are you going to call on?”
“A man.”
“Any one I know?”
“Well”—her husband threw back his head and chuckled delightedly—“not to speak to.”
She shook him by the sleeve. “Don’t be silly and mysterious. Is he a naval officer?”
“Er, yes.”
“At the Admiralty?”
“Down in that direction.” The cab slowed and pulled up. “Wait,” he said, and jumping out vanished between the swinging glass doors of the outfitter. A couple of minutes later he returned, carrying a sword and belt, resplendent in gilt and tassle. He stopped on the kerb, gave a low-voiced direction to the driver, and resumed his seat beside her.
“You haven’t bought another sword!” she gasped. “You’ve got one already.”
“Olo-piecee—too shabby. I’ve only borrowed this for the forenoon. You have to wear a sword to pay certain duty calls.”