“Kate,” said Captain Festival in a hollow voice.
“Yes?”—faintly.
“Don’t think I’m blaming you, darling, but I rather gather you’re
thinking of displacing _Baladeuse_.”
“I’m _not_!” shrieked Katharine. “I’m _not_! It’s—it’s all a terrible
mistake. I know you’ve heard someone bleating, but don’t think——”
“I haven’t!” yelled Giles. “It’s false! No one’s bleated for yiles—I
mean mears. Not since you did. An’ no one’ll ever blinkin’ well bleat
again. . . . There! I’ll make you a present of that. I’ve wanted to say
it for months, but I didn’t know how.” Hurriedly Forsyth replaced his
receiver. “And, as for _Baladeuse_—well, I’m thankful she’s still on
top—thankful, my darling. D’you hear? Thankful. . . . Of course, if at
any time, in a mad moment, you felt like another dart at jolly old _’Ard
an’ Bright_ . . .”
For a second his wife hesitated.
Then she bent to the mouthpiece.
“_Ma-a-a._”
The noise Captain Festival made, descending the stairs, brought
Katharine and Forsyth pell-mell into the hall.
Husband and wife stared at each other open-mouthed. . . .
The lawyer watched them in silence, one hand to his lips, the other
behind his back.
Presently their gaze shifted and fell upon Forsyth.
“But what a man!” said Giles, laying his hands upon the lawyer’s left
arm.
“What a friend!” said Katharine, laying hers upon his right.
“What a trustee!” said Forsyth, raising his eyes to heaven.
“He’s going to dine with us to-night,” said Giles.
“Yes,” said Katharine. “And we’ll show him our bathroom.”
“Two’s company,” said Forsyth, shaking his head.
“Thanks to you,” said Giles, shaking his arm.
“So’s three,” said Katharine, shaking the other.
“That’s over,” said Forsyth, and sighed. “Here’s the Deed.”
“Oh, we’re tired of that,” said Katharine.
“Yes,” said Giles. “We’re going to give it to Beatrice.”