“Oh, you marvellous Lotharios!” he cried. “To think that you, Anson—and you, too, Braithwaite—should have adventured along paths denied to myself.”
Many wise heads were shaken at this improbable suggestion.
“No, no, no, I assure you—innocent, my lords and gentlemen—hand on heart I say it” (much laughter and ironical cheers). “But I will turn over a new leaf. The spring is in the air—the call! Guide me with your wise lights to glades of Eros, for honestly”—he dropped into the commonplace—“if I ran away with a girl I shouldn’t know where to run. Tell me, some one.”
“Depends on how secret you wish to be,” the some one replied.
“Secret no—to hell with subterfuge!” cried Wynne, who had many drinks beneath his waistcoat. “Love is for the light, the sunshine, and the sea.”
“Nothing for it but the Cosmopolis, Brighton.”
“Right—every time. Marvellous Lotharios! Every time right. The Cosmopolis, Brighton. I shan’t forget—write it down, some one, ’case I do. Hullo, that you Quiltan?”
Lane Quiltan, who had entered the room five minutes earlier, nodded.
“Made an appointment, and you didn’t turn up.”
“Yes.”