He found them in the library, his father perusing the evening Times and his mother arranging invitations for a formal ball that they would host in two weeks' time - another of their ongoing efforts to find him a suitable match. He wetted his dry lips once, twice, a third time, and finally began to speak, the terrible secret pouring from him with entreating passion.

At last he had finished, and raised his eyes to meet the flat stares of his parents. After a silence of sufficiently intimidating length, his father stated, "Poppycock. You shall conclude this squalid business carefully, as befits a gentleman, and you shall make quite certain that not another word is ever spoken of it, in this household or elsewhere. Let us hope, for all our sakes, that you have not already been discovered."

"Father, I -"

"You heard me. Not another word."

"I see." His heart churning with bitterness, he prepared himself for what would, of necessity, be their final tryst.

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