“A little more,” said Katharine, “and you shall use our bathroom.”
“That,” explained Giles, “is a kind of Garter—the highest honour it’s in our power to bestow.”
Forsyth picked up a pen.
“Tell me,” he said, “what sort of an arrangement you want.”
“Well, we’re going shares,” said Giles. “Once a month, I’ll send her two-thirds of all the dividends and rents I’ve had.”
“Of course it’s grotesque,” said Katharine, “but I’ll do the same.”
“Yes? What about the house?”
“She’s going to caretake for me, and keep the servants on. I shall pay half her expenses.”
“Oh, rot!” said Mrs. Festival.
“My dear,” said Giles, “the bed of my mind is made up. Don’t rumple it.”