"Very well, Nigel," she answered, with a kind, frank smile. "I'll come. Lately Percy's had so much work that in the evenings he hasn't been very keen on going out to parties." "And you don't go without him?" he asked with curiosity. "No. Aren't I unfashionable?" "You're delightful." "Good-bye," she said, holding out her hand. He took it, and held it, saying: "And now I sha'n't see you again until a few minutes at the party, and heaven knows when after that." "I'll bring Madeline. Shall I?" "Oh yes, do. It'll be _some_ party, as the Americans say, and Charlie won't be there." "Good-bye again." "What are you going to wear?" he asked, in his old, brotherly voice, lingering by the door. "Salmon-coloured chiffon with a mayonnaise sash," she answered, fairly pushing him out of the room. "Do go." CHAPTER XIX A DEVOTED WIFE To anyone who knew Percy Kellynch and his wife, it would have been a matter of some surprise to observe the extreme enthusiasm and devotion that she showed for him. He was an excellent fellow, and had many good qualities, but he was not mentally by any means anything at all extraordinary; she was a very much more highly organised being in every possible way than he was. Percy was exceedingly kind and straight, yet there were, doubtless, many thousands of men exactly like him in England. In his rather simple and commonplace point of view he was, perhaps more like an ordinary English soldier than a barrister. He did not worship false gods, but, not being a soldier, and having perhaps learnt more of life in some respects than they generally do, he was inclined to be rather surprised at his own cleverness. In a quiet way he had a high opinion of himself. He had been disposed to be a superior young man at twenty, and now, at thirty, he was not without a tinge of self-satisfaction, even pompousness. That his quickly discerning, subtle little wife should like and appreciate his good qualities; that she should, being of an affectionate nature, value him, was not surprising; but that, with her sense of humour and remarkable quickness, even depth of intellect, she should absolutely worship and adore him--for it amounted to that--was rather a matter of astonishment. But it must be remembered that her first love, Nigel Hillier, when she was eighteen, was, obviously, just exactly what one would have expected to dazzle her--quick, lively, fascinating and witty--this early romance had been a terrible disappointment. Bertha had bravely been prepared to wait for years, or to marry him on the moment; she had not the faintest idea that the money difficulties would be used to put an end to it on _his_ side. When he had broken it off, saying that he feared her father was right, and that it was for her sake, she was terribly pained, seeing at once that his love was not of the same quality as hers. But when, in less than a week after that, he told her of his other engagement, it very nearly broke her heart, as the phrase goes.