"Cheerio! Here's to us all! Maddest, merriest day of all the glad New Year and so forth. And now," he continued, becoming sternly practical, "about the good old sequel and aftermath, so to speak, of this little binge of ours. What's to be done. You're a brainy sort of feller, Bevan, old man, and we look to you for suggestions. How would you set about breaking the news to mother?"
"Write her a letter," said George.
Reggie was profoundly impressed.
"Didn't I tell you he would have some devilish shrewd scheme?" he said enthusiastically to Alice. "Write her a letter! What could be better? Poetry, by Gad!" His face clouded. "But what would you say in it? That's a pretty knotty point."
"Not at all. Be perfectly frank and straightforward. Say you are sorry to go against her wishes—"
"Wishes," murmured Reggie, scribbling industrially on the back of the marriage licence.
"—But you know that all she wants is your happiness—"
Reggie looked doubtful.
"I'm not sure about that last bit, old thing. You don't know the mater!"
"Never mind, Reggie," put in Alice. "Say it, anyhow. Mr. Bevan is perfectly right."