VIII
They were at tea on the terrace of the Castle, the Earle and Countess of Altringham (née Branch) and their week-end guests, Mr. and Mrs. Nicholas Lansing (née Hicks), all merry and bright.
“Nicky, dear, did you read the funny story they’ve written about us?” asked Susy gaily. “Of course not. I’d forgotten you’ve given up books entirely. Well, it’s simply killing. You see, I’m supposed to turn Streffy down and then, of all things, get a job as child’s nurse for—you’d never guess—the five Fulmer kids—remember that awful bunch?—can you imagine me?
“Then you do the same to Coral—isn’t that the limit?—you turning down Coral! Imagination? Well, I guess yes. And you come bumbling round and it’s all on again—no divorce at all. Think of it!—and we go off with all the Fulmer kids, for a second honeymoon at—this is the top-notch!—at Fontainebleau—cheap hotel—awful restaurants. And, then, I suppose, we live happily ever after—though the Lord knows what we’re supposed to live on. They didn’t know us, did they, old one? I’ll say they didn’t.”
Everybody roared with laughter.
“Oh, well,” said Nicky, “you know, they’re the thing nowadays—unhappy endings—they all do it—call it Realism.”