He was in a more than usually sentimental mood that afternoon, and had, indeed, at the moment of Archie's arrival, been dreaming wistfully of soft arms clasped snugly about his collar and the patter of little feet and all that sort of thing. He gazed reproachfully at Archie.
"Archie!" His voice quivered with emotion. "Is it worth it? Is it worth it, old man? Think of the poor little woman at home!"
Archie was puzzled.
"Eh, old top? Which poor little woman?"
"Think of her trust in you, her faith"
"I don't absolutely get you, old bean."
"What would Lucille say if she knew about this?"
"Oh, she does. She knows all about it."
"Good heavens!" cried Reggie. He was shocked to the core of his being. One of the articles of his faith was that the union of Lucille and Archie was different from those loose partnerships which were the custom in his world. He had not been conscious of such a poignant feeling that the foundations of the universe were cracked and tottering and that there was no light and sweetness in life since the morning, eighteen months back, when a negligent valet had sent him out into Fifth Avenue with only one spat on.
"It was Lucille's idea," explained Archie. He was about to mention his brother-in-law's connection with the matter, but checked himself in time, remembering Bill's specific objection to having his secret revealed to Reggie. "It's like this, old thing, I've never met this female, but she's a pal of Lucille's"—he comforted his conscience by the reflection that, if she wasn't now, she would be in a few days—"and Lucille wants to do her a bit of good.
