“How can I do that?”
“You’re a woman,” said Derry doggedly.
“I’m not Virginia,” said Rosemary. “And only Virginia knows how she wants her gruel.”
“Exactly,” said Derry. “D’you think it’s likely that I should mix it right? I’d ’ve spoken weeks ago but for the fear of doing more harm than good. An’ if I speak now an’ make the slightest mistake, it’ll be all over. Give me the Middle Ages,” he added savagely. “The flat of the sword for her, an’ the point for Roger.”
“Thanks very much,” said Rosemary. “You would come out all right, wouldn’t you? And after the obsequies I suppose I could begin again. Still, I agree with half your sentiment. What they both need is the flat of the sword. The tongue’s too dangerous, the pen repellent and suggestive. I’m not going to correspond with my husband upon a subject like this. But the flat of the sword is genially disconcerting and quite unanswerable.”
“My dear,” said Peruke, “to be eloquent here is too easy. In Virginia’s absence I can send her to bed without a tremor. And I’ll bet a puncheon of rum it’s the same with you. And there we are. Our two little households are heading straight for the Court. If we do nothing, we shall get there in about a month. If we do the right thing, we shall heave to. But if we do anything else, we shall get there in twenty-four hours.”
“I should hate to suggest,” said Rosemary, “that you were being eloquent.”
There was an indignant silence.
At length—
“Why,” said Derry Peruke, “did you approach me?”