"I think you ought to make him very happy," Simon remarked, a little sardonically.
She gazed at him, wide eyed and innocent.
"Why, naturally I shall. After all, nobody wants an unhappy man moping about the place. I think I'll have him made a general in a few years."
"Just like that," said the Saint. "And how will you set about it?"
She shrugged.
"It oughtn't to be very difficult. I mean, I know all the right people, and he knows all the right people, and he's rather stupid in the right sort of way, and I'm rather clever, and if a man's stupid in the right sort of way, and his wife's rather clever, and they both know all the right people, it isn't very difficult for him to be made a general."
Simon regarded her with honest admiration.
"You know, I'm beginning to believe you really are clever," he said. "And if he's as stupid as you think he is — in the right sort of way, of course — I'm sure you'll make him very happy."
He ordered another drink and considered her speculatively.
"Have you by any chance started making him happy by allowing him to buy you that nice bit of fur?" he asked.