“Sold,” murmured Giles, “the very deuce of a pup—by Mistake, out of
Pity. No flowers, by request.”
“Let me at once admit,” said Katharine coldly, “that I did not select
you for your good taste.”
“‘Select’?” cried her husband. “‘Select’?” He laughed wildly. Then he
covered his eyes. “Oh, give me strength.”
“I suppose you consider that you selected me.”
“I did. In a weak moment——”
“Are you,” said Katharine shakily, “are you going to say you were
blind?”
“I am not,” said Giles. “I was not blind. I was—well—er—just nicely.”
“Well, I wasn’t,” said his wife hotly. “I was blind. I thought I was
accepting a gentleman. I find I accepted a——”
“I know,” said Giles mercilessly. “I know, teacher. A foul and loathsome
worm.”
“No,” said his wife calmly. “Just an ordinary cad.”
Captain Festival rubbed his nose thoughtfully. Then he extended his arms
and, after yawning luxuriously, interlaced his fingers and placed his
hands behind his head.
“My dear,” he observed, “be reasonable.” Katharine closed her eyes with
an expression of unutterable contempt. “All this, just because I
ventured to suggest that, if Beatrice had time to do it, she might take
charge of my linen.”
“Have you ever heard of meiosis?” said Mrs. Festival. “It means the
opposite of exaggeration.”
“I repeat,” said Giles, “that that was the humble suggestion at which
you took offence. I mayn’t have put it in those words, but——”
“You didn’t,” said Katharine. “You put it much more vividly. You said
that the condition of your wardrobe was enough to make a beachcomber
burst into tears——”
“So it is.”
“—and that, if I hadn’t got the moral courage to order ‘a lazy sweep of
a lady’s maid to pull up her rotten socks,’ I could ‘blinkin’ well
finance her’ myself. You added that you’d given up a valet, so that I
could have more money ‘to blow upon my back,’ and that my interpretation
of my marriage vows was funny without being vulgar.”
Her husband swallowed.
“I was referring,” he said doggedly, “to your promise to cherish me.”
“You promised the same.”
“Yes, but I keep it, Kate. I do cherish you. I’m always cherishing you.
Only yesterday afternoon—seventeen blinkin’ quid for a hat worth
eighteen pence . . . and not a murmur.”
Katharine inspired audibly, raising her eyes to heaven.
“When,” she rejoined, “when you start recounting your virtues, I want to
break something. Doesn’t it ever occur to you that that’s my job?”
“Frequently,” said Giles. “But you never do it.”
“You never give me a chance.”
With a supreme effort her husband controlled his voice.
“Look here,” he said fiercely. “Do you think it was—er—decent of me to
give you that hat, or not?”
“Oh, you can have the beastly hat,” said Katharine.
“Wouldn’t suit me,” said Giles mournfully. “Do you think——”
“I’ll never wear it,” declared his wife. “Never. I—I hate it.”
“Well, let’s take it back. They might allow us eighteen——”
“And why should I be overcome with gratitude just because——”
“The golden rule of blessed argument,” said Captain Festival
uncertainly, “is to keep to the blessed point. Let’s try, will you?
. . . No answer. I referred to my short-sighted generosity solely to
refute your suggestion that I was failing to cherish you. You
deliberately pervert the reference into an attempt to magnify myself.
What could be better?”
“Oh, that’s easy,” said Katharine. “You could get up half an hour
earlier and put your rotten things in order yourself.”
“On the _lucus a non lucendo_ principle? If you want your cake, pay
someone else to eat it, and then give it away? Thanks very much.
Unhappily, my education was neglected. I cannot sew. Secondly, if it’s
either of our jobs, it’s yours. Thirdly, why should I? If this house was
more like a home and less like an Employment Exchange, these questions
wouldn’t arise. Fourthly, I’m fed up.”
“How funny,” said Katharine silkily. “So’m I. Yet you slept well. I
heard you.”
In majestic silence her husband rose from his bed and entered an
orange-coloured dressing-gown.
“Have my bed put in the next room, will you?” he said coldly. “If you
don’t like to trouble the servants, tell me and I’ll get the
commissionaire from the Club.”
Here he trod upon a collar-stud, screamed, swore, limped to a window and
then launched the offender into Berkeley Square.
“That’ll learn it,” observed Mrs. Festival.
Giles regarded her with speechless indignation.
Then he swept into the bathroom stormily.
After, perhaps, five minutes he reappeared.
“I say,” he said quietly, “it isn’t much good going on like this, is
it?”
Katharine shrugged her white shoulders.
“Is it?” repeated her husband.
His wife averted her head.
“The blessed answer,” she said, “is in the blessed negative.”
Giles set his teeth.
“Good. Well, let’s separate. I take it you’ve tried. I know I have. I
suppose we oughtn’t to have married.”
“As—as you please,” said Katharine slowly.
“We’d better go down and see Forsyth—to-day, if we can.” He hesitated.
Then, “There’s no reason why there should be any unpleasantness about
it.”
“None whatever.”
“Only, don’t let’s be lured into backing out of it. It’s perfectly
manifest, to my mind, that it’s the only thing to do. Already we’ve come
to the brink of it half a dozen times, and then Sentiment’s always
chipped in and pulled us back.” Katharine nodded. “Well, that’s silly.
We needn’t scrap, but _don’t let’s be pulled back again_. It’s—it’s not
good enough. Let’s go through with it, this time, and—and see what
happens.”
“Right,” said Katharine brightly.
Giles turned away slowly.
In the doorway he hesitated.
Then he spoke, looking down.
“You—you see what I mean?” he faltered. “I’ld like us to—to part
friends.”
Katharine nodded.
When he was out of sight, she buried her face in her pillow and lay like
the dead.
* * * * *
If the votes of Mayfair had been taken to elect the most popular married
couple living, moving and having its being in Society, there is little
doubt that Captain and Mrs. Giles Festival would have headed the poll.
The lady was twenty-five and of great beauty. She was very fair, and the
light in her grave, blue eyes was a lovely thing. Her face might have
been her fortune—easily. So might her figure. This was the dressmakers’
joy. If Katharine liked fine feathers, she knew how to put them on.
Dancing, bathing, riding—always she filled the eye. But if she was
refreshing to look at, her fellowship lifted up the heart. I can think
of no company which she did not adorn. Someone once called her
‘Champagne’: certainly she went to the head. That she had so few enemies
is the best evidence of her remarkable charm. Women liked her—as often
as not against their will. Her nature would, I think, have disarmed a
Sycorax. Caliban would certainly have eaten out of her hand.
Giles was thirty, and looked a young twenty-six. Tall, fair, handsome,
lazy-eyed, he did everything well. The way in which he made war brought
him a V.C. The way in which he made love won him his wife. At the
Marlborough he was universally liked. In certain cabmen’s shelters he
was adored. He had, I suppose, the secret of adaptability. His laugh was
infectious; his turn-out, above reproach. His manners would have made
any man.
Both had a keen sense of humour, and neither was ever dull. They went
everywhere, and everywhere their coming was awaited and their going
deplored. They had been individually invaluable: as a combination they
were unique. What made them so excellent was their mutual devotion. Of
this they offered no evidence, but it was obvious as the day. Had
Society paraded in the Park, by common consent Giles and Katharine would
have been led at the head of the column, like regimental goats. For the
second year in succession they were the Season’s pets.
But now an east wind had arisen out of a clear sky. Though no one else
knew it, it had cursed the twain steadily for more than three months.
The two peace-loving hearts found themselves constantly at war. Worse.
The very qualities which should have pacified seemed monstrously to
provoke. The position had become unbearable.
* * * * *
An hour had gone by.
As Katharine entered the dining-room, her husband looked up from his
eggs.
“Forsyth,” he said, “will see us at twelve o’clock. Meanwhile”—he
tapped a volume—“this little Know All says that we ought to have
trustees.”
“What of?” said his wife.
“Heaven knows,” said Giles. “As far as I can gather, they’ld be a sort
of bufferee. Supposing you wanted to come and scratch me—well, you’ld
have to scratch the trustee first. And if I found you were pledging my
credit——”
“But I shall,” said Katharine. “Why shouldn’t I? I’m your wife.”
“Only for necessaries, dear heart. No more eighteen-penny hats.”
“Is that the law?” said Mrs. Festival blankly.
“Approximately. But don’t worry. You’ll have plenty to pay for them
with. I can’t endow you with all my worldly goods, but you shall have a
fair two-thirds.”
“Half,” said Katharine, crossing to the sideboard. “Fair do’s, old
fellow. And you must have half mine.”
Captain Festival frowned.
“My dear,” he said shortly, “don’t dither. I buy a dress-suit a year and
don’t pay for it. If I did, it’ld be about a pony.” He paused
significantly. “If an eighteen-penny hat and a half costs the same as a
gent’s dress-suit, how many evening frocks go to the Season?”
Abstractedly Katharine helped herself to kedjeree.