"That's the bleedin' trouble, all the tune," he complained. "Look at me. I'm supposed to be dictatin' a book, an important social and political document. But have I finished it? No! Am I likely to finish it?"
"Yes," said Courtney.
"No!" said H.M. fiercely. "And why? I'll tell you. Because all this week, a whole long week, the feller who's supposed to be taking it down has done nothin' but hang about and canoodle with that gal in the chair there. They haven't been apart, either in the figurative or the literal sense, for—"
Again Phil Courtney was utterly at peace with all the world. He reached down and put his arm around Ann, who pressed against him.
"That's a wicked lie!" protested Ann, coloring up.
"So?"
"Yes. But he's' free tomorrow evening, provided you let me come along and listen to the memoirs."
"Well," grinned Sharpless, "the very best of luck, old boy. And you too? Ann."
"And lots of it," said Vicky.
"May I too," said Dr. Rich, "add my congratulations? I am feeling that this is rather a better world than I believed a fortnight ago, despite Hubert Fane and all his works. With the assistance of Sir Henry, I hope before many months—"