"I'm rather keen on dates to-day," said Paul, pointing to the brass
calendar.

"Why?"

"It's exactly five years since I entered your dear service," said
Paul.

"We've worked you like a galley slave, and so I love your saying
'dear service,'" she replied gently.

Paul, half sitting on the edge of the Cromwellian table in the bay
of the window, laughed. "I could say infinitely more, dearest lady,
if I were to let myself go."

She sat on the arm of a great leathern chair. Their respective
attitudes signified a happy intimacy. "So long as you're contented,
my dear boy---" she said.

"Contented? Good heavens!" He waved a protesting hand.

"You're ambitious."

"Of course," said he. "What Would be the good of me if I wasn't?"

"One of these days you'll be wanting to leave the nest and--what
shall we say?--soar upwards."

Paul, too acute to deny the truth of this prophecy said: "I probably
shall. But I'll be the rarissima avis, to whom the abandoned nest