This was because it was wholly disbelieved. Everyone immediately assumed that Giles and Katharine Festival were being humorous. The former was lectured upon ‘cruelty’ at the Club. The latter was mocked over the telephone. “Is that you, Katharine? . . . I say, how many ‘l’s’ are there in ‘alimony’? . . . What? . . . Oh, but how sweet! . . . Never mind. Put a fiver on Decree Nisi for luck. . . .” It was intolerable. On the third day Katharine left Town—destination unknown. On the fourth day Giles fled to Evian, leaving a note for his wife, to be delivered after he had gone. On the fifth day they met on the shore of the lake of Geneva. “Hullo, Gill,” said Katharine. “How on earth did you know?” “Know?” faltered Giles. “Go—go away. This is molestation.” “It looks rather like it,” said Mrs. Festival. “Still, if you’ve got some possible cigarettes, I’ll let that go. Oh, and you might take that, will you?” She gave him a letter bearing his name and address. “It’ll save my posting it.” It seemed ridiculous not to dine together. . . . On the eighth day the papers announced:— _Captain and Mrs. Giles Festival have arrived at Evian-les-Bains._ This was misleading. By the time the paragraph appeared, Giles was in Scotland. . . . For the time, however, the _suggestio falsi_ effectually throttled any inkling of the truth. Indeed, it was not until the end of May that people began to appreciate that what they had regarded as a fiction was a stubborn _fait accompli_. That such an estrangement should create a profound sensation was natural enough. People could hardly believe their eyes or ears. Friends and acquaintances stared at the astounding truth, like stuck pigs. The projected divorce of an archbishop would not have occasioned one quarter of such amazement. Again, it was natural enough that, having recovered her breath, Mayfair should prepare to let out a perfect squeal of dismay. Her sparrow was dead. The bear was robbed of its whelps. The bellow, however, died on Society’s lips. Having rammed home the punch, Giles and Katharine proceeded to apply the healing balm. In the first place, the linen they were washing in public was spotlessly clean. Secondly, the two laundered comfortably, without the slightest embarrassment. Thirdly, their cheerful disregard of the traditions of Separation turned the tragedy into _opéra bouffe_. The general feeling of disappointment was still-born, to be immediately succeeded by a sense of bewildered relief. Captain and Mrs. Festival became more popular than ever. Isolated efforts to brand them died an inglorious death. Mrs. Soulsden Clutch, who faithfully attended Divine Service at St. Paul’s, Knightsbridge, and had nagged and bullied her husband into another world, announced that words failed her, and then spoke long and authoritatively upon the advertisement of indecency and of contempt for marriage vows.