“Why is it that you always make me indiscreet?”

“I suppose that I inspire people with the happy illusion that I am not going to take what they say seriously.”

“I suppose that is it.”

“By the way, what was India like?”

“Do you want to know?”

“Of course not.”

“I stayed with Ariadne.”

“Is she happy?”

“Radiant.”

“Loving pomp?”

“Loving Robert.”

“Dear me.”

“Robert is the most wonderful man in the world.”

“Well, he wanted to marry you; why didn’t you marry him?”

“I thought his pedestal such a precarious foothold in life.”

“If Ariadne can balance on it for a moment, it must be pretty firm.”

“It is a lovely pedestal.  You can see for miles from it, and it is as comfortable as an armchair.”

“Ariadne always had a rare eye for a cushion.”

“Ariadne is a perfect wife.”

“Margaret, it is absolutely essential that I should see you once every twenty-four hours for the rest of my life.  You will, therefore, not think me too matter-of-fact if I ask you your immediate plans?”

“I am staying here three more days.”

“Damn—­sixteen hours gone already, I am off to Deauville.”

“Then I am going back to London where it will all begin again.”

“I shall be there.”

“How grand it sounds to be a melodrama.”

“Margaret, do you know that I love you a great deal?”

“I know that you are a great flirt.”

“Of course.  That makes my real love so very exceptional and precious.”

“Does Virginia know that?”

“Virginia almost understands everything, but of course she can’t afford to admit it, or one would behave too impossibly.”

“Matthew, may I tell you something very serious?”

“Yes, if you don’t expect me to profit by it.”

“I used to understand almost everything, and I went on stretching and stretching till it broke, and now I understand nothing.”

“Perhaps you are right,” he twinkled at her, “perhaps I had better not marry Virginia.”

“Are you trying to make me unhappy?”

“Margaret, dearest, I might even be serious if I thought that it would make you happy.”

“Good heavens, it’s one, and I am lunching at one.”

“Margaret, promise never to mislay our intimacy again.”

“I promise.”

That evening there was a knock at the door.

“Monsieur a fait dire que c’etait un bouquet pour Madame.”

An immense bunch of balloons followed him into the room.

“For Margaret who—­in spite of everything, because of everything—­understands everything.”

“Matthew,” she wrote, “how young you make me.”

And then she murmured to herself: 

“Poor Virginia!”

II:  LAMPS