"I'll put him on to the job of finding a bungalow on the South Coast at once," I said. "And then we'll go and live there."
"We must get married," she observed.
"Married!" I stopped and stared at her with a puzzled expression. "Don't you think the marriage ceremony is rather barbarous?"
She did not reply; we walked on immersed in our own thoughts. At times I detected in the passers-by a gleam of sparrow-egg blue.
My house agent was a large, confused individual who habitually wore a shining top hat on the back of his head and twisted a cigar in the corner of his mouth. He was very fat, with one of those creased faces that seem to fall into folds like a heavy crimson curtain. His brooding, congested eye fell upon me as we entered, and an expression of alarm became visible in its depths. He pushed his chair back and retreated to a corner of the room.
"Dr. Harden!" he exclaimed fearfully, "you oughtn't to come here like that, you really oughtn't."
"Don't be an ass, Franklyn," I said firmly. "You are bound to catch the germ sooner or later. It will impress you immensely."
"It's all over London," he whimpered. "It's too much; it will hit us hard. It's too much."
"Listen to me," I said. "I have come here to see you about business. Now sit down in your chair; I won't touch you. I want you to get me a bungalow by the sea with a garden as soon as possible. I am going to sell my house."
"Sell your house!" He became calmer. "That is very extraordinary, Dr. Harden."