e sub-editor's room which tickled me to
death. Elsden, the night editor, had put it up, and it said that the
word 'gutted' was not to be used in describing the state of a house
after a fire. I went to Elsden ... I like him better than any one else
in the _Echo_ office ... and asked him what was the matter with the
word. 'Well, my dear chap,' he said, 'think of guts! I mean to say,
_Guts_! Hang it all, we must cover up something!' I thought he was being
rather old-maidish then, but I'm not sure now that Elsden's point of
view hasn't got something behind it. He just wanted to be decently quiet
about things that aren't pretty! I don't think it's necessary to blurt
out everything, and I'm certain that if you keep on washing your dirty
linen in public, people will end up by thinking you've got nothing else
but dirty linen. Your characters," he added, turning to Henry, "go
about, splashing in their emotions as if they were trick swimmers or ...
or damn little journalists. I tell you, Quinny, love's a private,
furtive thing, a secret adventure, and open exposure of it is a sort of
profanity...."

"No," said Henry emphatically. "Love's made nasty by secrecy!" He began
to spread himself. He had been reading some of the authors of the Yellow
Book period. "It seems to me," he said, "that the marriage rite is
broken, incomplete. In a healthy state, the whole function would be
performed in public ... in ... in a cathedral, say. There'd be a
procession of priests in golden chasubles, and acolytes swinging carved
censers, and boys with banners, and hidden choirs chanting long
litanies...."

"I shall be sick in a minute!" said Gilbert. "You're talking like an
over-ripe Oscar Wilde, Quinny, and if you were really that sort of
animal I'd have you hoofed out of this. Get out the whisky, Ninian, for
the love of the Lordy God! This aesthetic stuff makes my inside wobble!"

Ninian went to the sideboard and took hold of the whisky bottle. "I
don't much like that sort of talk myself," he said. "It's too
clever-clever for my taste. I shouldn't let it grow on me, Quinny, if I
were you. You'll get a reputation like bad eggs, and people'll think
you've strayed out of your period and got lost. As a matter of fact,
Gilbert, you don't really want whisky, and you're only going to drink it
for effect, so you shan't have any!"

He returned to his seat, as he spoke, and sat down. Henry had a quick
sense of shame. He had spoken insincerely, for effect