Mrs. Biddlecombe frowned, shaking her head.
"You must wait longer than that."
"Why?"
"It's customary."
"Blow that! I want Susie, and while we're in France the shop can be overhauled. You'll keep an eye on it—hey?"
"I wash my hands of any marriage entered upon in undue haste."
Finally, he agreed to wait two months, not a moment longer.
"But I shall order the sign to-morrow—'Quinneys''—with letters cuddling up against each other. It'll be made in London, quite regardless. Next Sunday and you, Susie, will take a little walk in and about Melchester. I shan't ask you to pig it over the shop."
"I shouldn't mind that a bit."
"But I should. I'm marrying a lady, one of the best, and I'll start the thing in style, just bang up."