'At it still,' interrupts George, poking his head in at the door, 'what it is to be on the eve of a wedding; I suppose you'll want a detective, and, oh, by the bye where are we going to dine?'
'In your room, I thought,' replies his wife, 'you see you can go to the club, and we shall not want much.'
'Fasting before a festival, I suppose,' says he; 'or perhaps you are afraid you will not be able to get into that new gown of yours.'
'How do you know anything about my new gown,' asks Mabel.
George laughs, 'I happened to see it put out for inspection in your room.'
'My room, what were you doing there?' begins Mabel, but he has departed.
'What can he have been doing?' she says.
'Go and see,' suggests Lippa, and Mabel filled with curiosity, hastens upstairs, but returns again in a minute.
'Look, what the dear thing has given me,' she cries, holding up a little blue velvet case, 'I must go and thank him,' and down she goes to the smoking-room, 'George, you dear old boy,' she says, hugging him round the neck, 'isn't it lovely,' she goes on, turning to Philippa who has followed her.
'It is indeed,' says she, carefully examining the moonstone set in diamonds. 'Did you choose it yourself, George?'