He closed
the door carefully behind them and then crossed over to glance out of
the window into the garden, where Mrs. Bingle was chatting earnestly
with Dr. Fiddler in the shade of a glorious oak. Mr. Bingle had had
something on his mind for a long, long time. The fate of Agnes Glenn
was at the back of it.
"When do you two expect to be married?" he asked bluntly, taking them
both by surprise. They turned quite red and looked at each other in
evident dismay.
"Why, we--er--really, Mr. Bingle," began Flanders, "we thought we'd
wait until we see how the piece gets over and then--" He looked to the
embarrassed Miss Fairweather for help.
"If everything goes well, Mr. Bingle," she said, nervously, "we
sha'n't hesitate an instant. Of course, if it is a failure, we'll--
well, it really would be wise to wait for a little while until--"
"That's just the thing I want to get at," said Mr. Bingle. "Don't put
it off, my friends. Get married here, Miss Fairweather, to-morrow,
next day. I am your friend, and yours, Dick. My wedding present shall
be--well, I must ask you to leave it to me.
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