“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.”