“I’m going,” she said, “to the library. Remember me to the port and then follow me in.” Her husband stepped to the door and held it open. As she was passing, she stopped and laid a hand upon his arm. “Promise me one thing, Gill.”
“Of course,” said Giles gallantly.
“Listen. If ever you hear someone bleat, don’t come and dine here with me until—until the fight’s over.”
Her husband drew himself up.
“My darling,” he said, “I give you my precious word.” He hesitated. “And—and you’ld put me off, wouldn’t you, if—if anything looked like displacing Baladeuse?”
Katharine nodded.
Five crowded weeks had slipped by.
The Courts were over: Ascot had come and gone: another shining Henley had floated into the past.
People were beginning to collect their wraps. The carnival was nearly done.