He slid his hand up the rail and rested it on hers. "Good lord, no. Not the office. No, I suddenly thought we'd have a holiday. You and I." He half hoped she would respond to the touch of his hand by turning the palm of her own to it. But he thought, "Why should she?" and she did not. She said, "But how extraordinary! Whatever for?" "Well, why not?" "But what did you say at the office? What reason did you give?" "Didn't give any. I just said I thought I wouldn't be back." "But whatever will Mr. Fortune think?" "Oh, what does it matter what he thinks? He won't think anything about it." "But he'll think it's funny." He thought, "Dash these buts!" This was what he called "niggling." It was on the tip of his tongue to say, "Why niggle about the thing?" but he recollected his purpose; that was him all over and that was just it! He said brightly, "Let him. Do him good. The idea suddenly came to me as a bit of a lark to have an unexpected holiday with you, and I just cleared off and came!" She had descended and he moved along the hall with her towards the morning room. "It's rather extraordinary," she said. She certainly was not enthusiastic over it. She asked, "Well, what are you going to do?" He wished he had thought of some plan as he came along. "What time's lunch? Half-past one? What about getting your bike and going for a bit of a run first?" She was at a drawer of her table where she kept, with beautiful neatness, implements for various household duties. A pair of long scissors came out. "I can't possibly. I've things to do. Besides some one's coming to lunch." He began to feel he had been a fool. The feeling nettled him and he thought, "Why 'some one'? Dash it, I might be a stranger in the house. Why doesn't she say who?" And then he thought, "Why should she? This is just _it_. I'd have heard all about it at breakfast if I'd been decently communicative." He said, "Good. Who?" She took a shallow basket from the shelf. He knew this and the long scissors for her flower-cutting implements. "Mr. Bagshaw." And before he could stop himself he had groaned, "Oh, lord!" She "flew up" and he rushed in tumultuously to make amends for his blunder and prevent her flying up. "Mark, I do wish--" "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I really am most awfully sorry, Mabel. 'Oh, lord''s not really profanity. You know it's not. It's just my way--" "I know that." But he persevered. "As a matter of fact, it's clear connection of thought in this case. Bagshaw's a clergyman, and my mind flew instantly to celestial things." She did not respond to this. "In any case, I really cannot see why you should object to Mr. Boom Bagshaw." "I don't. I don't in the least." "I've heard you say--often--that he's far and away the best preacher you've ever heard." "He is. Absolutely." "Well, then?" "It's just his coming to lunch. He's such a terrific talker and you know I can't stick talkers." "Yes, that's just why I invite them when you're not here."