...
P. Sybarite rose; yawned; smiled benignantly upon George Bross.
"I'm off to bed--was only waiting for this message," he announced;
"but before I go--tell me; how much money does Violet think you ought
to be earning before you're eligible for the Matrimonial Stakes?"
"She said somethin' oncet about fifty per," George remembered
gloomily.
"It's yours--doubled," P. Sybarite told him. "To-morrow you will
resign from the employ of Whigham & Wimper and go to Blessington's to
enter their shipping department at a hundred a week; and if you don't
earn it, may God have mercy on your wretched soul!"
George got up very suddenly.
"I'll go send for the doctor," he announced.
"One moment more." P. Sybarite dropped a detaining hand upon his arm.
"You and Violet are invited to dinner to-night--at the Hotel Plaza.
Don't be alarmed; you needn't dress; we'll dine privately in Marian's
apartment."
"Marian!"
"Miss Blessington--Molly Lessing that was."
"Honest!" said George sincerely. "I don't know whether to think you've
gone bughouse or not. You've always been a bit queer and foolish in
the bean, but never since I've known you--"
"And after dinner," P. Sybarite pursued evenly, "you're going to
attend a very quiet little wedding party."
"Whose, for God's sake?"
"Marian's and mine; and the only reason why you can't be best man is
that the best man will be my cousin, Peter Kenny.
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