"Quite up to date!" was the verdict of the Artist's wife, as soon as her guest was out of hearing. "Who?" said the Artist. Then, as one who steps down from conversation to communication, he added in business tones: "I say, Euphemia, I shall have to run this all down with turps before the copal hardens, and I really must give my mind to it. You had better hook it." "I'm going directly. But it's easy to say 'who?'" "Oh, I say, _do_ hook it! I can't attend to you and this at the same time." "I'm going. But it _is_ easy to say 'who?' And you know it's easy." The Artist, who was coquetting with one of those nice little corkscrews that bloom on Artists' bottles, became impatient. "Wha-a-_awt_ is it you're going on about?" he exclaimed, exasperated. "Can't you leave the girl alone, and hook it?" "I can leave the room," said his wife temperately, "and am doing so. But you see you knew perfectly well who, all along!" Even so the Japanese wrestler, who has got a certainty, is temperance itself towards his victim, who writhes in vain. Why on earth could not the gentleman leave the lady to go her own way, and attend to his work? He couldn't; and must needs fan the fires of an incipient wrangle that would have burned down, left to itself. "Don't be a fool, Euphemia," said he. "Can't you answer my question? What do you mean by 'quite up to date'?" Now, Mrs. Aiken had a much better memory than her husband. "Because," she replied, dexterously seizing on his weak point, "you never asked any such question, Reginald. If you had asked me to tell you what I meant by 'quite up to date,' I should have told you what I meant by 'quite up to date.' But I shall not tell you now, Reginald, because it is worse than ridiculous for you to pretend you do not know the meaning of 'quite up to date,' when it is not only transparently on the surface, but obvious. Ask anyone. Ask my Aunt Priscilla. Ask Mrs. Verity." The lady had much better have stopped here. But she wished to class her landlady amongst the lower intelligences, so she must needs add, somewhat in the rear of her enumeration, in a quick _sotto voce_, "Ask the girl Sairah, for that matter!" "What's that?" said her husband curtly. "You heard what I said." "Oh yes, I heard what you _said_. Well--suppose I ask the girl Sairah!" "Reginald! If you are determined to make yourself and your wife ridiculous, I shall go. I do think that, even if you have no common sense, you might have a little good-feeling. The girl Sairah! The idea!" She collected herself a little more--some wandering scraps were out of bounds--and went almost away, just listening back on the staircase landing.