“It’s very kind of you,” she said, “but it can’t be done. For one thing, I don’t think Henri’s available.” “Thank God for that,” said Ivan fervently. “And of course Dewlap’ll stay. He’s crazy about you.” “You’re very good,” said Belinda, “but I’m afraid I must go. I think if I were you I should keep the cook on, but Jacques is a wash-out.” “I—I shan’t stay on if you go.” Belinda started. “You—won’t—stay on?” she faltered. “Why on earth not?” Ivan shifted uneasily. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “Why—why should I?” “Well, that’s what you came for—Ivan.” “I know. But . . . Well, it’s a bigger house than I thought. You know. A shade roomy for one. The thought of five empty bathrooms’d make my blood run cold.” “Isn’t there someone you can ask?” Pomeroy shook his head. “Not a soul.” “But this is absurd,” said Belinda, crossing her legs. “One day you won’t come because I’m here, and the next you won’t stay because I’m not.” “‘Won’t come’?” cried Ivan. “How could I?” “Well, you did eventually, didn’t you?” “I know, but——” “If you’d liked,” said Belinda, “you could have come on the fifth.” “I precious near did,” said Ivan. “When I got your card I nearly went off the deep end.” “But you should have, Ivan.” The man took his pipe from his mouth and stared at the maid. “You should have written back, telling me to beat it for The Hothouse and saying that, come snow, September the woolly fifth would see you here.” “Oh, you ungrateful girl! What if I had?” “Then,” said Belinda, with a dazzling smile, “then I should have come on the fourth.” “_What?_” screamed Ivan, leaping up. “Hush,” said Belinda, laying finger on lip. “You’ll—you’ll wake her.” “D’you mean,” whispered Ivan hoarsely, “d’you mean you were waiting for me?” “Listen,” said Belinda. “Do you remember what Forsyth said that day about the Will? He made us read between the lines, didn’t he? He showed us _the implied condition_ upon which we were left this villa—that we should enjoy it _together_. Well, that implied condition stuck in my mind. . . . Presently I turned it round. If you remember, he said we ought to reason upon the Will’s behalf. And I asked myself whether, if Colonel Drawbridge had known that we were going to enjoy his home _apart_, he would have left it us. . . . And I came to the conclusion that he wouldn’t. . . . Well, that being so, there was only one thing to be done. _Noblesse oblige_, you know. You can’t take advantage of the dead.” “Belinda!” “Wait. That’s only my point of view. There’s no reason on earth why you should adopt it. My conclusion may be all wrong. But if ever I come again, I’ll get hold of Lady Cherubic and I hope you’ll come too. . . . And when—when I marry, Ivan, I shall renounce.” There was a long silence. At length— “I—I thought you were twisting my tail,” said Ivan Pomeroy. “I know. I—I wasn’t. A girl never twists the tail of a man she respects.” Pomeroy stepped forward and picked up my lady’s hand.