‘Oh dear, dear!’

’And then . . . ’

‘Not another!  O Frank!’

’Well, the use of the word “my.”  You must give that word up.  It should be “our."’

’I know, I know.  It was when I said that the salt water had taken the curl out of the feather in my—­no, in our—­well, in the hat.’

’That was all right.  But it is our luggage, you know, and our room, and so on.’

’Of course it is.  How foolish I am!  Then the waiter knows!  O Frank, what shall we do?’

’Not he.  He knows nothing.  I am sure of it.  He is a dull sort of person.  I had my eye on him all the time.  Besides, I threw in a few remarks just to set the thing right.’

‘That was when you spoke about our travels in the Tyrol?’

‘Yes.’

’O Frank, how could you?  And you said how lonely it was when we were the only visitors at the Swiss hotel.’

‘That was an inspiration.  That finished him.’

’And about the closeness of the Atlantic staterooms.  I blushed to hear you.’

‘But he listened eagerly to it all.  I could see it.’

’I wonder if he really believed it.  I have noticed that the maids and the waiters seem to look at us with a certain interest.’

’My dear girlie, you will find as you go through life that every man will always look at you with a certain interest.’

Maude smiled, but was unconvinced.

‘Cheese, dear?’

‘A little butter, please.’

’Some butter, waiter, and the Stilton.  You know the real fact is, that we make the mistake of being much too nice to each other in public.  Veterans don’t do that.  They take the small courtesies for granted—­which is all wrong, but it shows that they are veterans.  That is where we give ourselves away.’

‘That never occurred to me.’

’If you want to settle that waiter for ever, and remove the last lingering doubt from his mind, the thing is for you to be rude to me.’

‘Or you to me, Frank.’

‘Sure you won’t mind?’

‘Not a bit.’

‘Oh, hang it, I can’t—­not even for so good an object.’

‘Well, then, I can’t either.’

‘But this is absurd.  It is only acting.’

‘Quite so.  It is only fun.’

‘Then why won’t you do it?’

‘Why won’t you?’

’He’ll be back before we settle it.  Look here!  I’ve a shilling under my hand.  Heads or tails, and the loser has to be rude.  Do you agree?’

‘Very well.’

‘Your call.’

‘Heads.’

‘It’s tails.’

‘Oh goodness!’

‘You’ve got to be rude.  Now mind you are.  Here he comes.’

The waiter had come up the room bearing the pride of the hotel, the grand green Stilton with the beautiful autumn leaf heart shading away to rich plum-coloured cavities.  He placed it on the table with a solemn air.