Toby stared.
“But I thought you said——”
“Oh, I wasn’t thinking of Alfred. There was—another man. He—he was such a dear. It never occurred to me that he was mad. His—his aunt wasn’t. I mean—— Oh, Toby!”
The man’s arms were about her, and his cheek against hers.
“Cicely darling, d’you love me?”
“It sounds very weak, Toby dear, but I’m dreadfully afraid I do.”
“My blessed lady,” said Toby, and kissed her mouth. . . .
“Oh, do be careful,” said Cicely. “Love’s a disease, you know. Supposing you caught it.”
“You wicked child,” said Toby. “I gave it to you.”
“O-o-oh!”