Out of the flood of their engagements, the two were careful to save one evening a week, upon which they dined together at their own house. Afterwards they sat in the library until eleven o’clock. Then Giles would get up, and Katharine come to the door to see him out. Arrived at the threshold, her husband would kiss her fingers. “Good night, sweetheart. Sleep well.” And the lady would answer gravely— “Till next week, Gill. Good-bye.” One Thursday, half-way through June, such a meeting took place. When coffee had been served, and the two were left to themselves, “My dear,” observed Giles, “let me thank you for a most toothsome repast.” “It isn’t my fault,” said his wife. “‘Better is a dinner of herbs where love is.’” “Oh, ‘Cries of “Shame,”’” said Giles. “‘Cries of “Shame” and “Withdraw.”’ ‘Dinner of herbs’! Why, each of those tournedos was a stalled ox in itself. And no hatred, neither. That sole, too!” He sighed memorially, raising thankful eyes. “You know, we’ve beaten the sword into a fish-slice and the proverb into a cocked hat. Seriously, Kate, we’ve shown considerable skill.” “In reverting to the rank of private?” Giles nodded. “After being temporarily attached.” His wife regarded the tip of her cigarette. “Ducks take to water,” she said. “And men take to drink,” said Giles, “if they happen to be born thirsty. The point is——” “Have another glass of port,” said Katharine. “No, thanks,” said Giles. “Not that it isn’t excellent. It’s—it’s not of this world. Uncle Fulke left it me. But let that pass. The point is, you and I are naturally gregarious. Our instinct is to flock. I like someone to talk to while I’m getting up. You like someone to obstruct while dressing for dinner. Don’t think I’m being rude. The way in which you used to call me to give you your towel, is among my most treasured memories. Now, the curse of solitude has fallen upon our toilets.” He spread out eloquent hands. “Yet, our personalities survive. The first two or three days, while shaving, the bath seemed a bit empty, but——” “They do more than survive,” said Katharine, tilting an exquisite chin. “To judge from the quantity and quality of our invitations, we cut more ice than before. In fact, Fate’s been properly stung. By rights, we ought to be outcastes. As it is . . .” She let the sentence go and inhaled luxuriously. “Exactly,” said Giles. “It’s because we sink our feelings. Instead of bleating——” “Are you sure we’re gregarious?” said Katharine. “Of course we are,” said Giles. “We bleated because we were alone. We heard each other bleating, and—and forgathered. We were lonely, and hated the state. We were and are gregarious. I repeat that the way in which we have harked back to celibacy does us infinite credit.”