Monty seemed surprised; and Ted was a little disconcerted by this frank avowal of his own ordinary tastes.
"You see, Kit only goes to those things to please me," he said, apologetically. "She's just as keen on all those humpy plays as you are, don't you know?"
Monty was not sure that he knew, but he turned to another branch of art.
"Talking about posters," he said,—which was only his favourite method of opening a conversation, for nobody was talking about posters at all,—"have you seen that awfully clever one of the new paper, 'The Future'? It's by quite a new man, in the French style, so bold and yet so subtle. But of course you must have seen it."
"Oh, yes," laughed Katharine, "I should think I had! You mean the red one, don't you, with a black sun and a cactus thing, and a lot of spots all over it? Ted and I were laughing at it, only yesterday. Do you really think it is good?"
Monty said he really did think so; and Ted, who was torn in two by his admiration for both of them, came to his rescue.
"You had better be careful, Kitty," he said, anxiously. "Monty does know."
"Of course," said Katharine politely, "it is only a matter of taste, isn't it, Mr. Montague?"
"Quite so," replied Monty, concealing his feelings of superiority as well as he could. "By the way, talking of taste, what do you think of the new Danish poet? Rather strong, don't you think?"
Katharine sighed, and glanced nervously at Ted.