"I am sure you will," said Philip, who had yet to learn that these final reformations of Timothy's were of a recurrent character.
"Thanks, old friend, for your kind words," replied the love-lorn youth. "Tell me, how much does a man require to marry on?"
"Thirty-five shillings a week," said Philip. "At least, so some of my colleagues tell me."
"I have two thousand a year," said Timothy doubtfully. "I don't know how much that is a week, but I'll work it out some day in shillings and see. Anyhow, when I meet her, I shall take her out in the new car. Are you married?"
"No," said Philip.
"That's a pity. If you had been, your wife might have chaperoned us. But if you get married, let me know."
He looked at his watch.
"Ten o'clock," he announced. "Now, what shall we do next? The resources of the Club are at your entire disposal. Would you like to have a dry shampoo, or fight a duel, or buy a postal order, or what? Or shall we go to a theatre?"
Philip mildly pointed out that most of the theatres opened at eight.
"Then we will go to a music-hall," said the resourceful Timothy. "Waiter, is there a Tube Station in the Club? I always forget."