As she returned to the table—
“I don’t care,” she said slowly; “I won’t take more than my share. What shall we do about the house?”
“Well, if you don’t mind,” said Giles, “you’d better stay on. It’ll save a lot of trouble. If you don’t—I can’t very well live here, and the house’ld be going spare. That means we’ld have to let, which’ld send us both mad. The rooms’ld have to be done up, we should be done down, our effects would be done in and our finer feelings would be outraged. The idea of some sticky stranger wallowing in our private bathroom sends the blood to my head.”
Mrs. Festival shuddered.
Then—
“But what will you do, Gill? Of course, I should pay you a rent. The house and furniture’s yours, and——”
“I shall live at the Club. As to rent—considering that you’ll be better than any caretaker, I shall be up on the deal.”
Katharine digested this.
“I could only consent,” she said, “on the understanding that, if ever you changed your mind, you let me know. And, of course, you’ld keep a key and use it whenever you liked.”
“My darling,” said Giles, rising, “I look forward to dining at this table at least once a week. Of course, I shan’t come unasked. That would be molestation. Your trustee would be most rude. But if I behave myself. . . . Possibly, some afternoon when you were out, you might arrange for me to have a bath here. On my birthday, for instance. It’ld tickle me to death.”