Part 5

“The golden rule of blessed argument,” said Captain Festival uncertainly, “is to keep to the blessed point. Let’s try, will you? . . . No answer. I referred to my short-sighted generosity solely to refute your suggestion that I was failing to cherish you. You deliberately pervert the reference into an attempt to magnify myself. What could be better?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” said Katharine. “You could get up half an hour earlier and put your rotten things in order yourself.”

“On the _lucus a non lucendo_ principle? If you want your cake, pay someone else to eat it, and then give it away? Thanks very much. Unhappily, my education was neglected. I cannot sew. Secondly, if it’s either of our jobs, it’s yours. Thirdly, why should I? If this house was more like a home and less like an Employment Exchange, these questions wouldn’t arise. Fourthly, I’m fed up.”

“How funny,” said Katharine silkily. “So’m I. Yet you slept well. I heard you.”

In majestic silence her husband rose from his bed and entered an orange-coloured dressing-gown.

“Have my bed put in the next room, will you?” he said coldly. “If you don’t like to trouble the servants, tell me and I’ll get the commissionaire from the Club.”

Here he trod upon a collar-stud, screamed, swore, limped to a window and then launched the offender into Berkeley Square.

“That’ll learn it,” observed Mrs. Festival.

Giles regarded her with speechless indignation.

Then he swept into the bathroom stormily.

After, perhaps, five minutes he reappeared.

“I say,” he said quietly, “it isn’t much good going on like this, is it?”

Katharine shrugged her white shoulders.

“Is it?” repeated her husband.

His wife averted her head.

“The blessed answer,” she said, “is in the blessed negative.”

Giles set his teeth.

“Good. Well, let’s separate. I take it you’ve tried. I know I have. I suppose we oughtn’t to have married.”

“As—as you please,” said Katharine slowly.

“We’d better go down and see Forsyth—to-day, if we can.” He hesitated. Then, “There’s no reason why there should be any unpleasantness about it.”

“None whatever.”

“Only, don’t let’s be lured into backing out of it. It’s perfectly manifest, to my mind, that it’s the only thing to do. Already we’ve come to the brink of it half a dozen times, and then Sentiment’s always chipped in and pulled us back.” Katharine nodded. “Well, that’s silly. We needn’t scrap, but _don’t let’s be pulled back again_. It’s—it’s not good enough. Let’s go through with it, this time, and—and see what happens.”

“Right,” said Katharine brightly.

Giles turned away slowly.

In the doorway he hesitated.

Then he spoke, looking down.

“You—you see what I mean?” he faltered. “I’ld like us to—to part friends.”

Katharine nodded.

When he was out of sight, she buried her face in her pillow and lay like the dead.

* * * * *

If the votes of Mayfair had been taken to elect the most popular married couple living, moving and having its being in Society, there is little doubt that Captain and Mrs. Giles Festival would have headed the poll.

The lady was twenty-five and of great beauty. She was very fair, and the light in her grave, blue eyes was a lovely thing. Her face might have been her fortune—easily. So might her figure. This was the dressmakers’ joy. If Katharine liked fine feathers, she knew how to put them on. Dancing, bathing, riding—always she filled the eye. But if she was refreshing to look at, her fellowship lifted up the heart. I can think of no company which she did not adorn. Someone once called her ‘Champagne’: certainly she went to the head. That she had so few enemies is the best evidence of her remarkable charm. Women liked her—as often as not against their will. Her nature would, I think, have disarmed a Sycorax. Caliban would certainly have eaten out of her hand.

Giles was thirty, and looked a young twenty-six. Tall, fair, handsome, lazy-eyed, he did everything well. The way in which he made war brought him a V.C. The way in which he made love won him his wife. At the Marlborough he was universally liked. In certain cabmen’s shelters he was adored. He had, I suppose, the secret of adaptability. His laugh was infectious; his turn-out, above reproach. His manners would have made any man.

Both had a keen sense of humour, and neither was ever dull. They went everywhere, and everywhere their coming was awaited and their going deplored. They had been individually invaluable: as a combination they were unique. What made them so excellent was their mutual devotion. Of this they offered no evidence, but it was obvious as the day. Had Society paraded in the Park, by common consent Giles and Katharine would have been led at the head of the column, like regimental goats. For the second year in succession they were the Season’s pets.

But now an east wind had arisen out of a clear sky. Though no one else knew it, it had cursed the twain steadily for more than three months. The two peace-loving hearts found themselves constantly at war. Worse. The very qualities which should have pacified seemed monstrously to provoke. The position had become unbearable.

* * * * *

An hour had gone by.

As Katharine entered the dining-room, her husband looked up from his eggs.

“Forsyth,” he said, “will see us at twelve o’clock. Meanwhile”—he tapped a volume—“this little Know All says that we ought to have trustees.”

“What of?” said his wife.

“Heaven knows,” said Giles. “As far as I can gather, they’ld be a sort of bufferee. Supposing you wanted to come and scratch me—well, you’ld have to scratch the trustee first. And if I found you were pledging my credit——”

“But I shall,” said Katharine. “Why shouldn’t I? I’m your wife.”

“Only for necessaries, dear heart. No more eighteen-penny hats.”

“Is that the law?” said Mrs. Festival blankly.

“Approximately. But don’t worry. You’ll have plenty to pay for them with. I can’t endow you with all my worldly goods, but you shall have a fair two-thirds.”

“Half,” said Katharine, crossing to the sideboard. “Fair do’s, old fellow. And you must have half mine.”

Captain Festival frowned.

“My dear,” he said shortly, “don’t dither. I buy a dress-suit a year and don’t pay for it. If I did, it’ld be about a pony.” He paused significantly. “If an eighteen-penny hat and a half costs the same as a gent’s dress-suit, how many evening frocks go to the Season?”

Abstractedly Katharine helped herself to kedjeree.

As she returned to the table—

“I don’t care,” she said slowly; “I won’t take more than my share. What shall we do about the house?”

“Well, if you don’t mind,” said Giles, “you’d better stay on. It’ll save a lot of trouble. If you don’t—I can’t very well live here, and the house’ld be going spare. That means we’ld have to let, which’ld send us both mad. The rooms’ld have to be done up, we should be done down, our effects would be done in and our finer feelings would be outraged. The idea of some sticky stranger wallowing in our private bathroom sends the blood to my head.”

Mrs. Festival shuddered.

Then—

“But what will you do, Gill? Of course, I should pay you a rent. The house and furniture’s yours, and——”

“I shall live at the Club. As to rent—considering that you’ll be better than any caretaker, I shall be up on the deal.”

Katharine digested this.

“I could only consent,” she said, “on the understanding that, if ever you changed your mind, you let me know. And, of course, you’ld keep a key and use it whenever you liked.”

“My darling,” said Giles, rising, “I look forward to dining at this table at least once a week. Of course, I shan’t come unasked. That would be molestation. Your trustee would be most rude. But if I behave myself. . . . Possibly, some afternoon when you were out, you might arrange for me to have a bath here. On my birthday, for instance. It’ld tickle me to death.”

Katharine flung him a bewitching smile.

“If,” she said, “you don’t tell anyone, you shall use my sponge.”

“Kate,” said her husband, “I perceive that we are off. This separation stunt is going to work wonders.”

He was perfectly right.

Galbraith Forsyth, solicitor, was an honest man. Also he knew his world and could tell the sheep from the goats. He could be stern, and he could be most gentle. To those whom he trusted, who trusted him, he gave a service which money cannot buy. His judgment alone was invaluable. The sheep liked him, immensely. The goats hated him. But both respected him with a whole heart. If he had any pet lambs, the Festivals were among them.

He received the two pleasedly, bade them sit down, and drew the lady’s attention to a bunch of daffodils.

“Posies are seldom seen in Lincoln’s Inn Fields. But when I knew you were coming, I felt that something must be done. I didn’t want you to feel lonely.”

“Now, isn’t that charming?” said Giles. “If I could say things like that, we shouldn’t be here to-day.”

Forsyth looked at him sharply.

“You see, Mr. Forsyth,” said Katharine, “we’ve made a hopeless mistake. We thought we’ld be happy, though married: and we were wrong. We can’t hit it off. We’ve tried like blazes, but it’s not the slightest good. In fact, the only thing we’ve agreed about for something like three months is that the sooner we part, the better for Giles and me.”

“D’you mean this?” said Forsyth. “Or are you—er—pulling my leg?”

“We mean it all right,” said Giles. “It sounds like a comic dream, but it’s the grisly truth. For no apparent reason, Katharine annoys me. For no apparent reason, I get her goat. If we started to discuss those flowerlets, in five minutes we should be slinging books at each other. She’s witty, you know, and I’m a bit of a wag. We’ve always fenced, for fun—always. But now we can’t stop, and—the buttons are off the foils.”

“He’s perfectly right,” said Katharine. “I’m ashamed to say it, but we lead a cat and dog life. And now we’re both agreed that it isn’t good enough. Don’t suggest change, because we’ve tried that. He went away for a week. The night he came back I threw a glass at him.”

“An empty one,” said Giles. “Missed me by yards. But it’s the—the principle.”

“Exactly,” said Katharine. “Besides, the glass was a good one, and now it leaks.”

Forsyth, who felt the sting beneath the banter, was genuinely dismayed.

He smiled politely.

“It seems a pity,” he said. “When I say that, I’m putting it very low. A pity. You mustn’t be impatient, because, though I’m the keeper of your legal conscience, at heart I’m an ordinary man—with eyes in his head. I think you’re playing with fire. Life’s very uncertain, you know. If anything happened after you’d gone apart—the other would grieve, I’m afraid . . . have something to remember they’ld give a lot to forget . . . grudge the bit of their life they’d deliberately sworn away. . . . One never thinks of Remorse, until it touches you on the shoulder. I don’t suppose I should, only I’ve seen it . . . at work.”

There was a long silence.

Then—

“Thank you,” said Giles quietly. “Now, whatever else we regret, we shall never regret having come to see you this morning.” He paused. “Setting aside Sentiment, the answer is this. We should like to be able to forget the last three months. As we can’t, we think it better to prevent their becoming six.”

Forsyth inclined his head.

“Very good. Am I to draw up a deed? A deed of separation?”

“Please.”

“What about trustees?”

“Are they a necessary evil? We don’t mind you. In fact, you come under godsends. But the idea of inducting others into our private confessional is peculiarly repugnant.”

“It’s worse than that,” said Katharine. “We three are familiar. If I think Mr. Forsyth a brute, I can ring up and tell him so. I couldn’t do that to a trustee. In fact, the whole arrangement would become stiff, reinforced—like putting bones in a belt.”

“You couldn’t, for instance,” said her husband, “employ that simile. For your information, Forsyth, that’s not a proverb. Below the surface female woman wears a sort of comic cummerbund, four sizes too small. The idea is to displace the vitals. If she wants to shorten her life, she lines it with strips of whalebone, running the wrong way. Thus with the minimum of motion she gets the maximum of pain.”

“That,” said Forsyth uncertainly, “is not admittedly the function of trustees. Still, there are times when they are inconvenient. They certainly tend to cramp the style. Nevertheless . . . I’ll tell you what,” he added suddenly. “If you like, I’ll be your trustee.”

The two raised their eyes to heaven ecstatically.

“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.”

“I think that’s fair,” said Forsyth, wondering what the Law Society would say. “Next?”

“He’ll take the Rolls,” said Katharine, “and I’ll have the coupé.”

Giles hesitated.

“I had thought——” he began.

“Don’t be Quixotic,” said his wife. “You worship that car. Last time I drove her, you said——”

“Not before the child,” said Giles. “I withdraw. Besides, I never meant it. I was all worked up, I was. You worked me.”

“That all?” said Forsyth hastily.

“Well, I shall take my sponge,” said Giles. “She’s very kindly promised to let me use hers, if—er . . .”

By a superhuman effort Forsyth maintained his gravity.

“That sort of thing’s understood,” he said shortly. “I’ll put in the usual covenants not to molest, pledge credit—er—er—etc., and myself as trustee. I suppose you want it at once?”

“As soon as you can,” said Giles. “If we could have it to-night, we could go over it together, sign it, and I could push off to-morrow morning.”

“I’ll try. When you’ve signed it, return it to me. I’ll send you copies to keep in a day or two’s time. By the way, what’s your address?” Captain Festival mentioned a club. “Right.” The lawyer rose to his feet and preceded the two to the door. “I’m sorry, you know, but I’m glad you came to me. Come again whenever you please. I’ll show no fear nor favour—I promise you that. Let three be company, even if two’s none.”

They shook hands silently.

By one consent, Captain and Mrs. Festival drove straight to Bond Street and selected a gold cigarette-case. This was presently engraved and then delivered to an address in Lincoln’s Inn Fields.

The inscription was simple.

G . G.K.F . F

* * * * *

The news of the separation spread slowly.

This was because it was wholly disbelieved. Everyone immediately assumed that Giles and Katharine Festival were being humorous.

The former was lectured upon ‘cruelty’ at the Club.

The latter was mocked over the telephone.

“Is that you, Katharine? . . . I say, how many ‘l’s’ are there in ‘alimony’? . . . What? . . . Oh, but how sweet! . . . Never mind. Put a fiver on Decree Nisi for luck. . . .”

It was intolerable.

On the third day Katharine left Town—destination unknown.

On the fourth day Giles fled to Evian, leaving a note for his wife, to be delivered after he had gone.

On the fifth day they met on the shore of the lake of Geneva.

“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_.

That such an estrangement should create a profound sensation was natural enough. People could hardly believe their eyes or ears. Friends and acquaintances stared at the astounding truth, like stuck pigs. The projected divorce of an archbishop would not have occasioned one quarter of such amazement.

Again, it was natural enough that, having recovered her breath, Mayfair should prepare to let out a perfect squeal of dismay. Her sparrow was dead. The bear was robbed of its whelps.

The bellow, however, died on Society’s lips.

Having rammed home the punch, Giles and Katharine proceeded to apply the healing balm.

In the first place, the linen they were washing in public was spotlessly clean. Secondly, the two laundered comfortably, without the slightest embarrassment. Thirdly, their cheerful disregard of the traditions of Separation turned the tragedy into _opéra bouffe_.

The general feeling of disappointment was still-born, to be immediately succeeded by a sense of bewildered relief.

Captain and Mrs. Festival became more popular than ever.

Isolated efforts to brand them died an inglorious death.

Mrs. Soulsden Clutch, who faithfully attended Divine Service at St. Paul’s, Knightsbridge, and had nagged and bullied her husband into another world, announced that words failed her, and then spoke long and authoritatively upon the advertisement of indecency and of contempt for marriage vows.

Mrs. Busby Shawl, surnamed ‘The Comforter,’ went further and cut the two in the Park, afterwards broadcasting her achievement with the innocent air of one who, blinded with integrity, has shamed the Devil and is now uncertain whether it was a Christian thing to do.

But the findings of such censors of morality were coldly received: and, after exchanging malice for the inside of a week, the latter reviled one another and elbowed and fought their way into what they had lately described as ‘the House of Rimmon.’

The fun became fast and furious.

Joint invitations which had been jointly declined were re-issued severally and severally accepted. Invitations which had not been sent were hastily extended. The dates of parties, dances, week-ends became actually contingent upon the Festivals’ ability to attend.

The pets had become lion-cubs.

Katharine gave a dance.

Giles was invited, and gave a dinner beforehand, taking his guests on. He danced twice with his hostess, enjoyed champagne he had chosen, sat out in his own library.

Giles gave a luncheon, inviting eleven guests. Of these his wife made one, and, taking her proper precedence, sat on her husband’s left. Afterwards, the Rolls being there, he dropped her at Sloane Street and was deliciously thanked.

That night they met at a ball in Belgrave Square, and the next week-end in Hampshire, as two of the Pleydells’ guests.

On five days out of seven they junketed side by side.

On Derby Day they went to the Daneboroughs’ dance—a brilliant affair, which blazed till nearly five on the following day. Its remembrance was slightly marred by Mrs. Festival’s omission to take her latchkey and subsequent inability to ‘make her servants hear.’ Necessity knows no law. Giles, who had left early, was roused from a refreshing slumber by the night-porter of his Club and apprised of the facts. . . . There was only one thing to be done. He did it gallantly, with a suit over his pyjamas and pumps on his naked feet. The aggravated assault which he presently committed upon his own front door was audibly condemned by several infuriated residents in Berkeley Square. His butler, who had just got to sleep again, also condemned it with great savagery, but, after hoping against hope that the reinforcement his mistress had unearthed would also lose heart, himself at last succumbed to Captain Festival’s importunity. . . . His work over, the latter returned to his Club, wondering whether he could with decency suggest that a duplicate latchkey should be kept at the nearest police station. He need not have troubled his head. The following day, a gong the size of a soup-plate was installed beneath the butler’s bedstead. Upon observing its dimensions, the butler was greatly moved, but, while declaring in the servants’ hall that Katharine was no lady, he was forced to admit to himself that his mistress was no fool.

Out of the flood of their engagements, the two were careful to save one evening a week, upon which they dined together at their own house. Afterwards they sat in the library until eleven o’clock. Then Giles would get up, and Katharine come to the door to see him out. Arrived at the threshold, her husband would kiss her fingers.

“Good night, sweetheart. Sleep well.”

And the lady would answer gravely—

“Till next week, Gill. Good-bye.”

One Thursday, half-way through June, such a meeting took place.

When coffee had been served, and the two were left to themselves,

“My dear,” observed Giles, “let me thank you for a most toothsome repast.”

“It isn’t my fault,” said his wife. “‘Better is a dinner of herbs where love is.’”

“Oh, ‘Cries of “Shame,”’” said Giles. “‘Cries of “Shame” and “Withdraw.”’ ‘Dinner of herbs’! Why, each of those tournedos was a stalled ox in itself. And no hatred, neither. That sole, too!” He sighed memorially, raising thankful eyes. “You know, we’ve beaten the sword into a fish-slice and the proverb into a cocked hat. Seriously, Kate, we’ve shown considerable skill.”

“In reverting to the rank of private?”

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——”

“Are you sure we’re gregarious?” said Katharine.

“Of course we are,” said Giles. “We bleated because we were alone. We heard each other bleating, and—and forgathered. We were lonely, and hated the state. We were and are gregarious. I repeat that the way in which we have harked back to celibacy does us infinite credit.”

“Honour to whom honour is due,” said Mrs. Festival. “I’m not gregarious. I thought I was. I thought I would like a confidant—someone to cry my thoughts to without having to think what I said, someone who’ld give me my towel and—and generally understand.”

“In fact, a blinkin’ soul-mate?”

“And towel-horse combined. Exactly. Well, _I was wrong_.”