"Platonic, do you call it, Mrs. Digby?" said her visitor, with her accustomed smile. "Do you know, my dear Mrs. Digby, that from what _I_ know of Plato,--and I attended all Mr. Digby's lectures on Plato and Schopenhauer, and their relation to music and Socialism, which was before you knew him, of course,--I don't _fancy_ he would have countenanced such goings on in his ideal Republic? Of course you know best, and I should not dream of interfering between a wife and a husband; but I should certainly say myself, if I were asked, that that young woman's behavior in Pont Street is more fit for the Old Testament than for Plato. Perhaps you have not read any Plato, though?" "No; only the Old Testament; and that I was obliged to do for myself, you see, because there were no lectures upon it," rejoined Norah, gravely; and she bore the swift scrutiny of Mrs. Reginald Routh without flinching. Mrs. Reginald changed the subject; it was the only thing left her to do, and she did it well. "Of course I should not speak so strongly, dear Mrs. Digby, if I had not known your husband so well and so intimately before he met you at all. And perhaps if I had had your good fortune," here she glanced in a telling manner at the baby on Norah's knee, "and could have had a small soul to develop, I, too, should have become a womanly woman, with no desire for intellectual improvement. Ah, Mrs. Digby, you have in your child what we childless wives have failed to find in our search after wisdom. I frankly own that you are to be envied." And she had her revenge, for Norah believed her. Digby came in when she had gone. "Joan has sent round for me to help her out of a difficulty. Any message, childie? I shall be back to dinner. And have you seen my warm gloves?" "I mended them and put them in your drawer, dear. That's just like a man to be surprised at finding them in the right place! Oh, I wish you would write about the bath-room pipe--" "Damn," said Digby, audibly. "Don't, Digby. It really is important, because the wall is getting damp, and--" "That doesn't matter, does it? I've moved the piano." "But it is coming through into the nursery, Digby." "Oh, all right. I'll do it when I come in." "Mrs. Reginald has been here." "I know; that's why I haven't. What did she say?" "She seemed to think that you and Joan were enacting an Old Testament episode without the sanction of inspiration." "What awful cheek!" "Oh, she only meant to be friendly, I think. She seemed to admire baby." "Deuced clever woman, Mrs. Reginald. I'll write about the pipe when I come in."