"Y-e-s," I said doubtfully. "That would do it, of course. But we
shan't see very much of each other that way, shall we? Still, I
suppose.... Good Heavens!"

"What's the matter?"

"Phyllis, we've forgotten all about income-tax. That means about
another two months to account for."

"My dear, how _awful!_"

There was a pause while we both thought deeply.

"Couldn't you ..." we began together at last, and each waited for the
other to finish.

"Look here," I remarked, "we're both very good at finding things for
the other to do. Isn't there anything we could do together--a job for
'respectable married couple,' you know?"

"Why, of course--caretaking! We'll look after ducal mansions in the
silly season, when everybody's out of town. Then we'll see simply
heaps of one another."

"Yes," I agreed. "And then in the evenings, when you've scrubbed the
steps and the woodwork and polished the brass and dusted the rooms and
cleaned the grate and cooked the meals and tidied the kitchen, and
I've inspected the gas-meter and fed the canary, or whatever it is a
he-care-taker does, we'll dress ourselves up and go and sit in the
ducal apartments and pretend we're 'quality.'"