"I can guarantee the pluck and the sense," said Tony. "They are two things in which Isabel happens to specialize rather deeply."
"But do you mean you are ready to stop behind in her place?"
It was Jimmy who put the question.
"Certainly I am," replied Molly. "That's what I have come out here for."
He gazed at her for a moment in voiceless admiration.
"My Lord, you've got some nerve," he said. "What do you think will happen to you?"
Molly smiled pleasantly. "I think," she answered, "that I shall be respectably and properly married to Peter in the Portriga Cathedral. I don't see what the devil else they can afford to do. They have got to have a wedding, and as I'm quite ready to pretend that I'm the Princess, and nobody's ever likely to contradict it, it seems to me they'll jolly well have to make the best of it."
Tony laid down his cigarette and leaned back in his chair.
"Molly," he said, "you are as brilliant as you are beautiful. I don't believe there is any one else alive who could have thought of a notion like that when they were full of eggs and bacon."
"It's a terrific idea," admitted Jimmy, still gazing respectfully at the author. "The one great difficulty will be to fix up this interview between you and the Princess."