A quarter of an hour later we had our first quarrel. I asked him if it was cold up where he was. He said morosely that he had heard that joke on his stature a few times before. I told him that if he lived long enough--and I'd never seen anybody living much longer--he was likely to hear it a few times again. He then said that either I could hop off the 'bus or he would, and he didn't care which. After that we both were rather rude. He got me by the hair, and I had just landed a straight left to the point when the conductor came up and said he would not have it. I became engaged to Hugo that night at 10.41. I remember the time exactly, because Mrs. Pettifer had a rule that all her maids were to be in the house by ten sharp, and I was rather keeping an eye on my watch in consequence. To tell the truth, we quarrelled very frequently. Different though we were in many respects, we both had irritable, overstrung, tri-chord natures, with hair-spring nerves connected direct to the high-explosive language-mine. On one occasion I went with him to a paper fancy-dress dance at the rooms attached to the Hopley Arms. I went as "The Sunday Times," my dress being composed of two copies of that excellent, though inexpensive journal, tastefully arranged on a concrete foundation. When Millie Wyandotte saw me, she called out: "Hello, Marge! Got into the newspapers at last?" I shall be even with that girl one of these days. I declined to dance with Hugo at all. I said frankly that I preferred to dance with somebody who could touch the top of my head without stooping. I went off with Georgie Leghorn, and Hugo sat and sulked. Later in the evening he came up to me and asked if he should get my cloak. I said irritably: "Of course not. Why should you?" "Well," he said, "I don't know whether you're aware of it, but you've got three split infinitives in your City article." "Ah!" I replied. "The next time Millie Wyandotte telephones up to your head, give her my love and tell her not to over-strain herself." Things went from bad to worse, and after he had alluded to my backbone as my Personal Column, any possibility of reconciliation seemed at an end. I did not know then what a terribly determined person Hugo was. Georgie Leghorn saw me home. I parted with him at the house, let myself in by the area-gate, locking it after me, and so down the steps and into the kitchen. There I had just taken off my hair when I heard a shrill whistle in the street outside. Hurriedly replacing my only beauty, I drew up the blind and looked out. There, up above me on the pavement, was Hugo, stretching away into the distance. "Called for the reconciliation," he said. "Just open this area gate, will you?" "At this time of night?" I called, in a tense whisper. "Certainly not." He stepped back, and in one leap jumped over the area-railings and down on to the window-sill of the kitchen. The next moment he had flung the window up, entered, and stood beside me.