'Then, marriage must be deaf,' he said, 'or such music as that would
charm it.'
She smiled sadly. Her smile was the tricksy play of moonlight among
clouds of faery.
'You have never been married,' she said simply.
'Do you mean that you, too, are neglected?' something impelled him to
exclaim.
'Worse,' she murmured.
'It is incredible!' he cried. 'You!'
'Hush! My husband will hear you.'
Her warning whisper brought him into a delicious conspiracy with her.
'Which is your husband?' he whispered back.
'There! Near the casement, standing gazing open-mouthed at Cecilia. He
always opens his mouth when she sings. It is like two toys moved by the
same wire.'
He looked at the tall, stalwart, ruddy-haired Anglo-Saxon. 'Do you mean
to say he--?'
'I mean to say nothing.'
'But you said--'
'I said "worse".'
'Why, what can be worse?'
She put her hand over her face. 'I am ashamed to tell you.' How adorable
was that half-divined blush!
'But you must tell me everything.' He scarcely knew how he had leapt
into this role of confessor. He only felt they were 'moved by the same
wire'.
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