"Didn't you know about the little plot that she and I laid to get you to bring her to Paris?" he persisted, much amused.
I glared at him.
"Why, Peter," he said, "when you declared to me in the clubhouse that nothing could get you to Paris unless, through your own stupidity, something happened to your pig——"
I turned on him as red as a beet.
"I know you stole that pig, Van!"
"Yes," he muttered guiltily.
"Then," said I earnestly, "for God's sake let it rest where it is, and marry Alida whenever you like!"
"With your blessing, Peter?" asked Van Dieman, solemnly.
"With my blessing—dammit!"
We shook hands in silence.