"That was a full bottle a month ago," Thor declared, holding the accusing object up to the light.
"Was it, sir?" Dearlove asked, dismally. He stood in his habitual attitude, his arms crossed on his stomach, his hands thrust, monklike, into his sleeves.
"And I've only taken one glass out of it—the day that young fellow fell off his bicycle."
Dearlove eyed the bottle piteously. "'Aven't you, sir? Perhaps you took more out that day than you thought."
But Thor broke in with what was really on his mind. "Look here, Dearlove! What would you say to a man who was in love with one woman if he married another?"
Dearlove was so astonished as to be for a minute at a loss for speech. "What'd I say to him, sir? I'd say, what did he do it for? If it was—"
"Yes, Dearlove?" Thor encouraged. "If it was for—what?"
"Well, sir, if he'd got money with her, like—well, that'd be one thing."
"But if he didn't? If it was a case in which money didn't matter?"
Dearlove shook his head. "I never 'eard of no such case as that, sir."