“No, thanks; I’m going to spend my last bachelor fortnight here.”
“Just as you like. Better have spent it with me. I’m sure Gertie does not want you with all her dresses to see to—what do you call it, Mrs Hampton—a trousseau?”
“I believe so, Mr Saul,” said the old lady dryly; “but when I was married, I had to do without.”
“You will not come, then,” said Saul, at last, rising.
“No, thanks; but you’ll stop to dinner.”
“No; too many little preparations to make; letters to write, and that sort of thing. If I stay, will you alter your mind?”
“No, no. In me behold a converted reprobate. I’m in training for a married man.”
“Oh, very well, then; I must be off. I’ll write to you from Paris and let you know how I’m getting on, and where I stay in case you would like to join me.”
“No fear.”
“You may alter your mind, my lad. Good-bye, Gertie. Be an obedient girl. Good-bye, Mrs Hampton. Hang it all, George! you might ask a fellow to have a drink.”