Rosemary put up a hand and touched his face.
“Because I thought it was silly for two such old friends to go down without discussing their fate.”
Derry turned his head quickly and kissed her fingers. These flew back to the wheel.
“And now,” said Rosemary contentedly, “what are we to do? We haven’t been wasting time, because we’ve decided two things. The first is that action is rather better than speech, and the second that if we’re to act we’d better look sharp about it.”
“Supposing,” said Derry Peruke, “supposing we fell in love.”
Rosemary started violently, and the car swerved.
Then she began to laugh.
“By way of curing them? Or consoling ourselves?”
“Both,” said Derry. “If the sight of us getting off doesn’t open their eyes, then will nothing this side of a lawyer’s clerk. Secondly, I don’t know about you, but I’m ripe—ready to drop for consolation of a tangible sort. And what more natural than that I should turn to my loving little friend—Rosemary Chase? She’s sweet, she’s beautiful: I’ve loved her for fifty years: she’s got the prettiest hands and a face like a fairy-tale: her hair—what have you got on your hair? It’s all—all mellifluous. Oh, and just look at your mouth!”
“That’ll do,” said Rosemary shakily. “Privy scandal’s no good.”