“Exactly,” said Derry. “D’you think it’s likely that I should mix it right? I’d ’ve spoken weeks ago but for the fear of doing more harm than good. An’ if I speak now an’ make the slightest mistake, it’ll be all over. Give me the Middle Ages,” he added savagely. “The flat of the sword for her, an’ the point for Roger.” “Thanks very much,” said Rosemary. “You would come out all right, wouldn’t you? And after the obsequies I suppose I could begin again. Still, I agree with half your sentiment. What they both need is the flat of the sword. The tongue’s too dangerous, the pen repellent and suggestive. I’m not going to correspond with my husband upon a subject like this. But the flat of the sword is genially disconcerting and quite unanswerable.” “My dear,” said Peruke, “to be eloquent here is too easy. In Virginia’s absence I can send her to bed without a tremor. And I’ll bet a puncheon of rum it’s the same with you. And there we are. Our two little households are heading straight for the Court. If we do nothing, we shall get there in about a month. If we do the right thing, we shall heave to. But if we do anything else, we shall get there in twenty-four hours.” “I should hate to suggest,” said Rosemary, “that you were being eloquent.” There was an indignant silence. At length— “Why,” said Derry Peruke, “did you approach me?” Rosemary put up a hand and touched his face. “Because I thought it was silly for two such old friends to go down without discussing their fate.” Derry turned his head quickly and kissed her fingers. These flew back to the wheel. “And now,” said Rosemary contentedly, “what are we to do? We haven’t been wasting time, because we’ve decided two things. The first is that action is rather better than speech, and the second that if we’re to act we’d better look sharp about it.” “Supposing,” said Derry Peruke, “supposing we fell in love.” Rosemary started violently, and the car swerved. Then she began to laugh. “By way of curing them? Or consoling ourselves?” “Both,” said Derry. “If the sight of us getting off doesn’t open their eyes, then will nothing this side of a lawyer’s clerk. Secondly, I don’t know about you, but I’m ripe—ready to drop for consolation of a tangible sort. And what more natural than that I should turn to my loving little friend—Rosemary Chase? She’s sweet, she’s beautiful: I’ve loved her for fifty years: she’s got the prettiest hands and a face like a fairy-tale: her hair—what have you got on your hair? It’s all—all mellifluous. Oh, and just look at your mouth!” “That’ll do,” said Rosemary shakily. “Privy scandal’s no good.” “Rot the scandal,” said Derry. “Besides, I’m naturally virtuous, so if I’m to come off in public I must have a smell at the jumps. Quite apart from that, my darling, it’s making me well. I’ve always found you lovely, and a chance of telling you so is good for my heart. And it ought to be good for yours—unless you hate me.”