"Jonah says we must leave at eleven," said Daphne. "For goodness' sake, don't be late."
"My wedding garments are prepared and but await my entry. The sponge-bag trousers are unrolled, the elastic-sided boots untreed, the made-up tie dusted. Of course, we're taking Nobby?"
I looked up from my charge, who was by this time fairly dry and as full of beans as an egg is of meat.
"Of course."
"Of course. You never know. I might get run over. That'd give him an opening."
"Here," said I, "is your towel. He's all right now."
Carefully Berry fingered the fabric.
"He was wet, wasn't he?" he said. "Yes. I suppose I can dry myself on the curtains. I wonder which of us he would bite if I were to assault you." He hung the towel over his arm, picked up the terrier and looked into his eyes. "You wicked scrap! Why, he's not nearly dry yet." Nobby licked his face. "Come along up with uncle, and we'll share the bath-mat."
The two disappeared up the staircase, wrangling amicably regarding my brother-in-law's right to pull the terrier's whiskers.
"You won't forget to write, will you?" said Daphne, as we returned to the dining-room.