“—and here”—he produced a silk handkerchief—“is a perfectly good glass. I brought it as a sort of stirrup-cup, just—just to show there’s no ill feeling. You know. Wash out the good old times an’ wash in the new. Come on, old lady. Forward with the bay rum.”
In silence the bottle passed. . . .
“Here’s your best, Dick,” said the girl uncertainly.
She emptied the glass, and Pembury filled it again.
Elizabeth put it aside.
“You drink that, Dick.”
“I brought it for you.”
“I know. I accept it and give it back. Drink it and wish me luck.”
Pembury raised the glass.
“Your best—now and for ever,” he said quietly.