ked riding. "Heaven
forbid!" he repeated. "Such an idea never entered my head."

"Then where does the vanity come in?" asked Lady Fenimore.

They had their little argument. I lit a cigarette and let them argue.
In such cases, every married couple has its own queer and private and
particular and idiosyncratic way of coming to an agreement. The third
party who tries to foist on it his own suggestion of a way is an
imbecile. The dispute on the point of vanity, charmingly conducted,
ended by Sir Anthony saying triumphantly:--

"Well, my dear, don't you see I'm right?" and by his wife replying with
a smile:--

"No, darling, I don't see at all. But since you feel like that, there's
nothing more to be said."

I was mildly enjoying myself. Perhaps I'm a bit of a cynic. I broke in.

"I don't think it's vanity to see that you get your money's worth.
There's lots of legitimate fun in spending twenty thousand pounds
properly. It's too big to let other people manage or mis-manage.
Suppose you decided on motor-ambulances or hospital trains, for
instance, it would be your duty to see that you got the best and most
up-to-date ambulances or trains, with the least possible profits, to
contractors and middle-men."

"As far as that goes, I think I know my way about," said Sir Anthony.

"Of course. And as for publicity--or the reverse, hiding your light
under a bushel--any fool can remain anonymous."

Sir Anthony nodded at me, rubbed his hands, and turned to his wife.

"That's just what I was saying, Edith."

"My dear, that is just what I was trying to make you understand."

Neither of the two dear things had said, or given the other to
understand, anything of the kind. But you see they had come in their
own quaint married way to an agreement and were now receptive of
commonsense.

"The motor ambulance is a sound idea," said Sir Anthony, rubbing his
chin between thumb and forefinger.

"So is the hospital train," said Lady Fenimore.

What an idiot I was to suggest these alternatives! I looked at my
watch. It was getting late. Hosea, like a silly child, is afraid of the
dark. He just stands still and shivers at the night, and the more he is
belaboured the more he shivers, standing stock-still with ears thrown
back and front legs thrown forward. As I can't get out and pull, I'm at
the mercy of Hosea. And he knows it. Since the mount of Balaam, there
was never such an intelligent idiot of an ass.

"What do you say?" asked Si