"Well, we can't both be right."
"Did Teddy say anything about expecting two wives?" asked Frederick hopefully.
"Idiot!" said Percival. "As I see the situation, one of us—presumably you—will presently be the central figure in a court-martial or police court on a charge of abducting an innocent female. The remaining reels in the film will be devoted to Teddy chasing you with a 5·9 howitzer for jeopardizing his connubial happiness. But these unhappy concluding incidents may be averted if you return the wrongful lady to her rightful owner before Teddy gets back. So we'll take the necessary action immediately."
"But which one are we going to discard if they both claim to be the genuine Mrs. R.? Hadn't we better wait for Teddy? He'd be almost sure to be able to decide."
"You make me tired. It's got to be settled before he comes back."
It was a brace of dejected subalterns that wended their way to 10 bis, Rue Dufay. Percival knocked at the door of the drawing-room and in response to an invitation they entered. A pretty and extremely composed young lady greeted them.
"My wife!" said Percival and Frederick simultaneously.
"Excuse me," said the lady with dignity; "the only husband I possess at present is Mr. Roker."
"What I mean to say is," explained Percival lamely, "that you are the wife of Mr. Roker that I met at the Customs—I mean, Mr. Roker's wife that—"
"Me too!" broke in Frederick.