Jean lifted her beautiful head.
“For Heaven’s sake—why?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said her husband. “Only—only it’s our weddin’-day”—Jean frowned—“and I think perhaps we might mark it. You know. Just draw in our horns.”
“ ‘In loving memory’?”
“If you like,” said Pauncefote. “Let’s—let’s go for a walk in the Bois.”
Jean gave a little shriek of laughter.
“My dear Oliver,” she said, “your efforts to play the mug are too good to be true. Now eat your bread-and-butter like a good little boy and tell me what won the Church Congress—I mean, the Two Thousand. Where was Fire Guard?”
“Don’t know,” said her husband shortly. “But I mean what I say. I want to talk things over.”
“Well, I don’t,” said Jean. “I had my bust last night—my final bust. The incident’s closed. Besides, in the cold light of day——”
“I’m afraid it isn’t,” said Pauncefote.