“My good Wilfrid, what has it got to do with me?”

“You will be the agent for bringing pressure to bear. Paulina is fond of you-she eats out of your hand. If you were to burst into tears and say that life without me in the attic would be valueless, or words to that effect, she might be nerved to the point of giving David Moray the push.”

Sally said briefly, “It wouldn’t be.”

He drew himself up about an inch.

“What do you mean, it wouldn’t be? What wouldn’t?”

“Life. It wouldn’t be valueless. In fact quite the contrary. Why on earth should you try and turn David out?”

He looked at her maliciously.

“Being a little stupid, aren’t you, darling. I’m coveting my neighbour’s studio. What I have is only a room, and a foul one at that. The stair smells of cabbage-water, and Mrs. Hunable smells of drink. If I am laid low, nobody holds my stricken hand or smoothes my stricken brow. I would, in fact, be a good deal better off with Paulina. Added to which there are the sacred claims of relationship. An inspiring thought that we shall be under the same roof! Who was it who said, ‘If propinquity be the food of love, play on’?”

Sally was betrayed into a faint engaging giggle.

“I suppose you mean Shakespeare-only I should think he would be a good deal surprised, because he didn’t say propinquity, he said music.”

“He said such a lot of things,” said Wilfrid in an exhausted voice. Then, sitting up another inch or two and brightening a little, “Consider what it would be to wake in the morning and think, ‘Wilfrid is only two floors up,’ and to sink into slumber at night with the same beautiful thought! Only, of course, there might be times when I should be burning the midnight oil elsewhere.”

“I can well believe it.”

“Oh, I always get home in the end-sometimes a little the worse for wear, but no matter. And as already stated, Paulina would be there to soothe the anguished brow next day. Or you, my sweet!”