"How old will you be?" she asked, with a smile.
"Twenty-six. Aging fast. Have to hurry up and enjoy ourselves while we can."
"I shall be twenty-five in March," she said.
Then suddenly she seemed able to throw off all her fatigue and to forget all her disappointment.
"Sorry I've been so dull these last few weeks," she murmured. "Tony, do you still love me?"
"You never need ask me that," he said. "But do you love me?"
She nodded.
"Couldn't you say it? You never have, you know. Couldn't you just whisper 'yes'?"
"Yes."
"Cleared it," he shouted, and while he was in his dressing-room she heard him singing: