Of late, the Festivals had not met nearly so much.
The reason for this is illuminating.
Each was declining a number of invitations.
Since, however, they never discussed their engagements, Katharine imagined that Giles was still ‘going strong,’ while the latter, lying wakeful in bed, pictured his wife dancing night after night into the dawn.
Fantasy did not stop there.
They had made two of the house-party gathered at Castle Charing a fortnight before. The weather had been inviting, and Katharine and Pat Lafone had been inseparable. When they were not playing golf, they were out in the car. On two out of three evenings they had been badly late for dinner, arriving at the table breathless and simultaneously. And Pat was twenty-seven and full of life. He was also most attractive in looks and deeds. . . . Then the party had dispersed, and two days later Giles had passed the pair, riding together in the Row. . . . His wife had waved, and Pat had shouted joyfully, but Festival had winced.
There is an old superiority of horse over foot which, other things being equal, may make itself felt. It is, I suppose, traditional. The knight went mounted. It may, of course, be merely a matter of inches. The ability of the equestrian to look down upon such as go walking is not to be denied. His is a commanding position—of which the pedestrian may be ridiculously conscious.
Wishing very much that he had been riding, Giles told himself not to be a fool and, on reaching the Club, rang up Madrigal Chicele and asked her to lunch. Afterwards, he drove her to Hurlingham, passing Katharine upon the road.
Madrigal had been very civil at Castle Charing. Her husband had been killed in the War, after a month of wedlock. That was six years ago, and if Mrs. Chicele yet mourned, she mourned in secret. She was extremely good-looking and had a delightful laugh. . . .
The next day, the four met in Bond Street—with two open taxis between them. They exchanged appropriate banter. Katharine’s and Giles’ contributions were suspiciously bright.