Giles nodded.
“After being temporarily attached.”
His wife regarded the tip of her cigarette.
“Ducks take to water,” she said.
“And men take to drink,” said Giles, “if they happen to be born thirsty. The point is——”
“Have another glass of port,” said Katharine.
“No, thanks,” said Giles. “Not that it isn’t excellent. It’s—it’s not of this world. Uncle Fulke left it me. But let that pass. The point is, you and I are naturally gregarious. Our instinct is to flock. I like someone to talk to while I’m getting up. You like someone to obstruct while dressing for dinner. Don’t think I’m being rude. The way in which you used to call me to give you your towel, is among my most treasured memories. Now, the curse of solitude has fallen upon our toilets.” He spread out eloquent hands. “Yet, our personalities survive. The first two or three days, while shaving, the bath seemed a bit empty, but——”
“They do more than survive,” said Katharine, tilting an exquisite chin. “To judge from the quantity and quality of our invitations, we cut more ice than before. In fact, Fate’s been properly stung. By rights, we ought to be outcastes. As it is . . .”
She let the sentence go and inhaled luxuriously.
“Exactly,” said Giles. “It’s because we sink our feelings. Instead of bleating——”