“I’m not sailing till the end of September,” said Athalia musingly, “so I could put in a month. I must confess I’ld rather like to get warm. When’s your Bank Holiday?”
“Sixth of août,” said Punch. “I should give that a miss.”
“If I went on the fourth . . .” She sighed. “At least, it’ll be a change. After all, Life’s rather like a frock. If it’s to be a success, you must see it from every angle. Besides, to tell you the truth, I think it’ld be a good move—my suddenly leaving the stage. Nature abhors a vacuum.”
Fairfax’ heart stood still.
After an awkward silence—
“Is—is he showing any signs of life?” he said uncertainly.
Athalia looked away.
“I—I think so,” she whispered.
Upon being approached, Sir Charles Grist could see no reason at all why his secretary’s leave should not commence at five on Sunday afternoon instead of at twelve o’clock on Sunday night.