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.
“What do you think of that?” he said calmly.