“Hullo, Gill,” said Katharine. “How on earth did you know?”
“Know?” faltered Giles. “Go—go away. This is molestation.”
“It looks rather like it,” said Mrs. Festival. “Still, if you’ve got some possible cigarettes, I’ll let that go. Oh, and you might take that, will you?” She gave him a letter bearing his name and address. “It’ll save my posting it.”
It seemed ridiculous not to dine together. . . .
On the eighth day the papers announced:—
Captain and Mrs. Giles Festival have arrived at Evian-les-Bains.
This was misleading.
By the time the paragraph appeared, Giles was in Scotland. . . .
For the time, however, the suggestio falsi effectually throttled any inkling of the truth.
Indeed, it was not until the end of May that people began to appreciate that what they had regarded as a fiction was a stubborn fait accompli.