So the two of us tripped on down the hall. Once sequestered in the bathroom, Fairchild drew the tub while I began to wonder how I proposed to enjoy it fully clothed. "You'd better wait outside in the hall," I told Fairchild. "And tell anyone who happens by that I'm waiting for my servant to finish practicing his doggie paddle?" "Well, dash it, how am I supposed to avail myself of the bath with you hanging about like the albatross of the Ancient Mariner?" "I could turn my back." "You'll peek." She was leaning over swishing the water around, and she spoke without looking up. "You're forgeting that little exhibition you put on for Mr. Mudyard right after you first hired me." Oh that. "Well, that was to prove a point. And I knew you'd be so shocked as to fail to register." "I guess you'll just have to trust me," she murmured. She didn't seem to be paying me a great deal of attention. "Oh dear," she went on to say. "What's up?" "We're running out of hot water." "Confound these ancient mausoleums!" I exploded. "There's enough to fill the tub, isn't there?" "Yes, but ..." "You're 'but'-ing again, Fairchild. What is it?" "Well, if you take the only warm bath, what about me?" "Skip it," I dispensed with this cavil. "You smell all right to me." "You are very kind to say so, sir. But I was pushing that car, too." "Oh, for God's sake!" Circumstances are concatenating vilely today. "Very well then, I suppose we'll have to take the tub together." "I beg your pardon?" "And well you might. What I'm proposing is, I'll turn my back like this." I turned. "You divest, climb in, suds up the water and then close your eyes until I give you the word." "But you'll peek." "That's absurd." "It's what you said I'd do." "Fairchild," I said, and I meant the word to come out a bit on the patronizing side, "I have far better things to do than peek at my servant as she climbs into a bathtub." She didn't even bother to make an intelligible response. There was a brief silence and then I heard her sloshing around. "Okay," she said at last. She was immersed to the neck in bubbles with her eyes scrunched shut. I waved a hand in front of them to check, then doffed and climbed in. "Okay," I said, and she opened her eyes. It was really rather cosy, if on the silly side, the two of us drawn up at our respective ends of the tub with just our noggins protruding above the sea of foam. Then came a banging upon the portal as at the Final Trump. Fairchild, the silly thing, shot up as if an electric current had been introduced into the water.

"I say, how much longer are you going to be?" came a voice through the door. It was Biddulph. "None of your business," I hollered back. Coyly, like sea-born Aphrodite operating in reverse, Fairchild immersed herself once more.

(continued on request)