“Why should I?” she asked.

“They mostly do,” he said; then he caught himself up. “I mean⁠ ⁠… a woman is supposed to.”

“This is the last moment when I ought to hate you,” she said resentfully.

“I know! I know! It should be so! You’re frightfully good to me.⁠ ⁠…” he cried miserably.

She wondered why he should be miserable. “Won’t you sit down again?” she said. He glanced at the door.

“Sir Clifford!” he said. “Won’t he⁠ ⁠… won’t he be⁠ ⁠… ?” She paused a moment to consider. “Perhaps!” she said. And she looked up at him. “I don’t want Clifford to know⁠ ⁠… not even to suspect. It would hurt him so much. But I don’t think it’s wrong, do you?”

“Wrong! Good God, no! You’re only too infinitely good to me⁠ ⁠… I can hardly bear it.”