There
were a lot of worse things that could happen to a man.
But we now come to the incident of the quiet Dinner, and it's just here
that love's young dream hits a snag, and things begin to occur.
I happened to meet Bobbie in Piccadilly, and he asked me to come back
to dinner at the flat. And, like a fool, instead of bolting and putting
myself under police protection, I went.
When we got to the flat, there was Mrs. Bobbie looking--well, I tell
you, it staggered me. Her gold hair was all piled up in waves and
crinkles and things, with a what-d'-you-call-it of diamonds in it. And
she was wearing the most perfectly ripping dress. I couldn't begin to
describe it. I can only say it was the limit. It struck me that if this
was how she was in the habit of looking every night when they were
dining quietly at home together, it was no wonder that Bobbie liked
domesticity.
"Here's old Reggie, dear," said Bobbie. "I've brought him home to have
a bit of dinner. I'll phone down to the kitchen and ask them to send it
up now--what?"
She stared at him as if she had never seen him before. Then she turned
scarlet. Then she turned as white as a sheet. Then she gave a little
laugh. It was most interesting to watch. Made me wish I was up a tree
about eight hundred miles away. Then she recovered herself.
"I am so glad you were able to come, Mr.
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