"Huh! That's because I don't spend three parts of my time in milliners'
shops," Mr. Bundercombe replied.
"Where are you spending most of your time?" I asked, determined to take
the bull by the horns.
Mr. Bundercombe set down his glass.
"I've been expecting this," he remarked pleasantly. "Eve's been setting
you on to pump me, eh?"
I nodded.
"That's exactly it," I admitted. "We are due to be married in ten days. We
are neither of us anxious for anything in the way of an unfortunate
incident."
Mr. Bundercombe appeared to view with surprise the advent of a second
tumbler. He reconciled himself to its arrival, however, and handed money
to the attendant.
"I realize the position entirely, my dear fellow," he assured me. "I am
glad you have opened the subject up. I have been bursting to tell you all
about it; but I have hesitated for fear of being misunderstood."
I glanced at his nails.
"Of course," I observed slowly, "the position of an elderly gentleman with
a marriageable daughter and a wife," I went on bravely, "who finances a
young lady interested in manicuring in an establishment in Bond Street is
liable to misinterpretation."
Mr. Bundercombe was a little taken aback. He hid his face for a moment
behind the newly arrived tumbler.
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