to be lovers—if we simply do,” she said.
“We shouldn't.”
“We've got to do something more parting than that.”
I nodded, and again we paused. She was coming to something.
“I could marry Shoesmith,” she said abruptly.
“But—” I objected.
“He knows. It wasn't fair. I told him.”
“Oh, that explains,” I said. “There's been a kind of sulkiness—But—you told him?”
She nodded. “He's rather badly hurt,” she said. “He's been a good friend to me. He's curiously loyal. But something, something he said one day—forced me to let him know.... That's been the beastliness of all this secrecy. That's the beastliness of all secrecy. You have to spring surprises on people. But he keeps on. He's steadfast. He'd already suspected. He wants me very badly to marry him....”
“But you don't want to marry him?”