"When Jill," she said, "becomes the Duchess of Padua, what bloods we shall be." "She isn't there yet," said I. "Where?" "My sweet," said I, "I apologise. I was using a figure of speech, which is at once slipshod and American." "That," said my wife, "is the worst of being English. You're like the Indian tailor who was given a coat to copy and reproduced a tear in the sleeve. Imitation can be too faithful. Never mind. I forgive you." "D'you hear that, Nobby?" The terrier started to his feet. "Did you hear what the woman said? That we, who have founded precedents from time immemorial--that you and I, who taught America to walk----" "He's Welsh," said Adèle. "I don't care. It's scandalous. Who defiled the Well of English? And now we're blamed for drinking the water." Adèle looked out of the window and smiled at a cloud. "Once," she said slowly, "once I asked you if you would have known I was an American.... And when you said 'Yes,' I asked you why.... Do you remember your answer? ... Of course," she added swiftly, "that was before we were married." "You beautiful witch," said I. "You unkind, beautiful witch. You've only to touch the water with the tip of your little red tongue to make it pure. You've only to put your lips to it to make it the sweetest music that ever a poor fool heard. You've only to smile like that to make me proud to kiss your shining foot." "Nobby!" cried Adèle. "Oh, Nobby! Did you hear that? Did you hear what the man said? A real courtier's speech! But how can he kiss my feet when I'm sitting on them?" I stepped to her side, picked her up, and swung her on to a table. Then I kissed her sweet insteps. From her perch my wife addressed the Sealyham. "It's all right, Nobby," she said relievedly. "He is a king, after all. Only a king would have done that." As I sat down by her side-- "I'd love to be a queen," cried a voice. "Love to. Wouldn't you like to be a king?" It was Jill speaking. The fresh tones came floating up and in at the open window. She could not have heard our words. It was pure coincidence. Adèle and I sat very still. "I don't know," said Piers slowly. "I'll tell you what I'd do," said Jill. "I'd--Piers, what is the matter?" "Nothing," said Piers. "There is," said Jill accusingly. "You know there is. I can see it in your eyes. What are you thinking about?" "I--I don't know," stammered her swain. "I think you might tell me," said Jill aggrievedly. "I always tell you everything. Once or twice lately you've got all quiet suddenly--I can't think why. Is it because your aunt's coming?" Piers laughed bitterly. "Good Heavens, no," he said. "Well, why is it, then?" For a moment there was no answer. Then all of a sudden the sluice-gate of speech was pulled up.