“Emergency call on imperative official business. Back to-morrow or next day, or whenever you choose to tell ’em. That’ll give you time to arrange things and fix up a good, water-tight lie.”
“No lie could be good enough.”
“Wait till we put our heads together over it.”
“How can we put our heads together if your head is in Montreal?”
“It won’t be, except for publication to the bridal party. It’ll be at the Bungalow. I’m going to carry it there now, on foot.”
“And stay there until it’s time for you to get back from Montreal?”
“Precisely. When you need your titled Britisher back, I’ll be ready, with the accent and the infernal, scratchy whiskers.”
“Suppose, meantime, the bridal couples come wandering about the Bungalow?”
“Then I’ll take to the woods. Lives of the hunted and all that sort of thing. Before I’m through with all this I may have to disguise myself as a rabbit and learn to twitch my ears.”
“It’s fearfully risky—” began the girl.