“When?” said Katharine.
A choking noise was succeeded by another silence.
With his eyes closed and tears running down his cheeks, Forsyth clung to his receiver helplessly.
At length—
“Kate,” said Captain Festival in a hollow voice.
“Yes?”—faintly.
“Don’t think I’m blaming you, darling, but I rather gather you’re thinking of displacing Baladeuse.”
“I’m not!” shrieked Katharine. “I’m not! It’s—it’s all a terrible mistake. I know you’ve heard someone bleating, but don’t think——”
“I haven’t!” yelled Giles. “It’s false! No one’s bleated for yiles—I mean mears. Not since you did. An’ no one’ll ever blinkin’ well bleat again. . . . There! I’ll make you a present of that. I’ve wanted to say it for months, but I didn’t know how.” Hurriedly Forsyth replaced his receiver. “And, as for Baladeuse—well, I’m thankful she’s still on top—thankful, my darling. D’you hear? Thankful. . . . Of course, if at any time, in a mad moment, you felt like another dart at jolly old ’Ard an’ Bright . . .”
For a second his wife hesitated.