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“Gilbert has arranged with his office to stay away for six
months. It will be such a treat for him, won’t it? You see, he’s never
had more than a fortnight’s holiday before.”
“Why not?” asked Mrs. Tower in a tone that no effort of will
could prevent from being icy.
“He’s never been able to afford it, poor dear.”
“Ah!” said Mrs. Tower, and into the exclamation put volumes.
Coffee was served and the ladies went upstairs. Gilbert and I
began to talk in the desultory way in which men talk who have
nothing whatever to say to one another; but in two minutes a note was
brought in to me by the butler. It was from Mrs. Tower and ran as
follows:
Come upstairs quickly and then go as soon as you can. Take
him with you. Unless I have it out with Jane at once I shall have a fit.
I told a facile lie.
“Mrs. Tower has a headache and wants to go to bed. I think if
you don’t mind we’d better clear out. “Certainly,” he answered.
We went upstairs and five minutes later were on the door-step.
I called a taxi and offered the young man a lift.
“No, thanks,” he answered. “I’ll just walk to the corner and
jump on a bus.”

Mrs. Tower sprang to the fray as soon as she heard the front
door close behind us.
“Are you crazy, Jane?” she cried.
“Not more than most people who don’t habitually live in a
lunatic asylum, I trust,” Jane answered blandly.
“May I ask why you’re going to marry this young man?” asked
Mrs. Tower with formidable politeness.
“Partly because he won’t take no for an answer. He’s asked me
five times. I grew positively tired of refusing him.”
“And why do you think he’s so anxious to marry you?”
“I amuse him.”
Mrs. Tower gave an exclamation of annoyance.
“He’s an unscrupulous rascal. I very nearly told him so to his
face.”
“You would have been wrong, and it wouldn’t have been very
polite.”