"Well, gentlemen, I'll be off," and he
vanished by the side path through the laurels.
"Siddle!" repeated Grant vexedly. "So it is. And she dislikes the man,
for some reason."
"Let's go and rescue the fair maid," prompted Hart.
"No, no. If Doris wanted me she would let me know."
"How? At the top of her voice?"
"You're far too curious, Wally."
"Semaphore, of course," drawled Hart. "When are you going to marry the
girl, Jack!"
"As soon as this infernal business has blown over."
"You haven't asked her, I gather?"
"No."
"Tell me when you do, and I'll hie me to London town, though in torrid
June. You're unbearable in love."
"The lash of your wit cuts deeply sometimes," said Grant quietly.
"Dash it all, old chap, I was talking at random. Very well. I'll do
penance in sackcloth and ashes by remaining here, and applauding your
poetic efforts. I'll even help. I'm a dab at sonnets."
Meanwhile, Mr. Siddle had regained his poise.
"I meant nothing offensive to the donor of the beer," he said, tuning his
voice to an apologetic note. "But I take it Robinson is conducting
certain inquiries, and I imagine that his superiors demand a degree of
circumspection in such conditions.
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