“Of course he is. And yet you tell me to wait!” Mrs. Festival threw back her head and pressed her hands to her eyes. “What d’you think I’ve been doing for the last three months? I’ll tell you. I’ve been waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting for Giles to come back. Waiting, with a jest on my tongue and a picture-postcard smile. Watching other women rushing after my husband, biting and scratching and lying to catch his eye, cadging seats in his car, eating out of his hand. . . . Once a week he’s come to our house as a guest. Once a week we’ve met across our own table and been polite—_polite_! The last two or three times I thought his manner seemed strained, as if he was upset about something. But I never dreamed. . . .” Her lips were trembling, and she stopped. The next moment she had herself in hand. “I tell you,” she cried, “I’ve stood up and grinned and borne it, till I can’t endure any more. I wrote that wretched note in desperation. I thought . . . I hoped. . . . And now you tell me to wait!” “As you and your husband’s trustee,” said Forsyth faithfully, “I say that you can do nothing. You’ve covenanted not to molest.” “Oh, blow what I covenanted. I’m not going to be bound by any rotten papers. Besides, I never read it.” “You signed it,” said Forsyth mercilessly, getting upon his feet. “Mr. Forsyth,” said Katharine, “you told me to come to you if I was in trouble. Don’t send me empty away.” “I must see these people,” said Forsyth. “You stay where you are. I’m sorry I had no time to get any flowers, but you were rather precipitate. I’ll tell you what,” he added, as if voicing an afterthought. “Would you like to speak to your husband while I’m upstairs? You know. Just ring up casually, by way of clearing the air?” “He’s sure to be out,” said Katharine. “With Mad——” “We can but try,” said Forsyth. “Of course, if you’ld rather not . . .” “I’ld love to,” said Katharine. “I don’t know what on earth I can say, but——” “The time will provide the words,” said Forsyth, and left the room. . . . He found Giles pacing the floor like a caged beast. “While I’ve been away,” he said quickly, “I’ve had an idea.” “Go on,” said Giles, moistening his lips. “Go on.” “Would you like to ring your wife up?” Captain Festival reflected. Then— “She won’t be there,” he said. “She’s with Pat, for a monkey.” The lawyer shrugged his shoulders. “You can try,” he said. “Don’t, if you don’t want to, but I don’t think a telephone call is molestation, and, at least, you’ld be in touch.” “All right,” said Giles. “I don’t know what to say, but——” “I’ll tell them to get you on,” said Forsyth, opening the door. “Here! Don’t leave me,” said Giles. “Don’t go away. Supposing she’s in?” “Well, it’s not much good if she isn’t, is it?” “D’you mind saying that again?” said Giles weakly. “I—I wasn’t ready. Besides, you can’t say ‘isn’t is it.’ It’s not euphonious. I—I say . . .” But the lawyer was gone.