“Oh, that’s maddening,” cried Cicely, clapping her hands. “Go on.”
“But I can’t go on,” cried Toby. “That’s the devil of it. I don’t know what to confess. All that first bit’s eye-wash—quite all right as a lead. But now I’ve got to land a hell of a punch. The next two lines have got to do the trick. They’ve got to satisfy, allay and crush. They’ve got to satisfy her curiosity, allay her suspicion and crush her initiative.”
“That’s easy,” said Miss Voile. “Give me the pad.”
In a silence too big for words the writing-pad passed.
Cicely finished the sentence and threw it back.
. . . . that it is now quite clear that we do not and never did love one another.
“That’s no good,” said Toby. “That’s simply inviting investigation. How can you reconcile that with, er, with the ‘Toby darling’ of yesterday afternoon?”
“Then cut me out,” said Miss Voile. “Say—
. . . . clear that I do not and never did love her.
How can she go behind that?”