“Absolutely, if you don’t mind.  You see,” said Reggie confidentially, “it’s like this.  I’ve got lots of pals, of course, buzzing about all over London and its outskirts, who’d be glad enough to rally round and join the execution-squad; but you know how it is.  Their maters are all pals of my mater, and I don’t want to get them into trouble for aiding and abetting my little show, if you understand what I mean.  Now, you’re different.  You don’t know the mater, so it doesn’t matter to you if she rolls around and puts the Curse of the Byngs on you, and all that sort of thing.  Besides, I don’t know.”  Reggie mused.  “Of course, this is the happiest day of my life,” he proceeded, “and I’m not saying it isn’t, but you know how it is—­there’s absolutely no doubt that a chappie does not show at his best when he’s being married.  What I mean to say is, he’s more or less bound to look a fearful ass.  And I’m perfectly certain it would put me right off my stroke if I felt that some chump like Jack Ferris or Ronnie Fitzgerald was trying not to giggle in the background.  So, if you will be a sportsman and come and hold my hand till the thing’s over, I shall be eternally grateful.”

“Where are you going to be married?”

“In London.  Alice sneaked off there last night.  It was easy, as it happened, because by a bit of luck old Marshmoreton had gone to town yesterday morning—­nobody knows why:  he doesn’t go up to London more than a couple of times a year.  She’s going to meet me at the Savoy, and then the scheme was to toddle round to the nearest registrar and request the lad to unleash the marriage service.  I’m whizzing up in the car, and I’m hoping to be able to persuade you to come with me.  Say the word, laddie!”

George reflected.  He liked Reggie, and there was no particular reason in the world why he should not give him aid and comfort in this crisis.  True, in his present frame of mind, it would be torture to witness a wedding ceremony; but he ought not to let that stand in the way of helping a friend.

“All right,” he said.

“Stout fellow!  I don’t know how to thank you.  It isn’t putting you out or upsetting your plans, I hope, or anything on those lines?”

“Not at all.  I had to go up to London today, anyway.”

“Well, you can’t get there quicker than in my car.  She’s a hummer.  By the way, I forgot to ask.  How is your little affair coming along?  Everything going all right?”

“In a way,” said George.  He was not equal to confiding his troubles to Reggie.

“Of course, your trouble isn’t like mine was.  What I mean is, Maud loves you, and all that, and all you’ve got to think out is a scheme for laying the jolly old family a stymie.  It’s a pity—­almost—­that yours isn’t a case of having to win the girl, like me; because by Jove, laddie,” said Reggie with solemn emphasis, “I could help you there.  I’ve got the thing down fine.  I’ve got the infallible dope.”