“I was endeavouring to point out,” she said coldly, “that I was the sufferer. Being fool enough to worship Alfred, I used to wear myself out—humouring his whim.” She paused dramatically. “Then, again, I used to leave parties early. He used to say one should be asleep by two. Time and again I’ve left a dance in the middle so that Alfred could go to bed.”
“I think,” murmured Captain Rage, “that I should have liked Alfred.”
“I quite expect,” flashed Cicely, “that I should have got on with—what was her name?”
“Rachel,” said Toby. “And I’m quite sure you would. In fact, I think you’d probably ’ve been fast friends. The silly part of it is that so might she and I. I did get on with her—extremely well, until I fell to Love.” He sat up there and set his hands on his knees. “Still, I’m not ungrateful. One attack like that does you a lot of good. But for the doing I’ve had, you’d almost certainly ’ve knocked me out.”
“Do look out,” cried Cicely.
“It’s all right,” said Rage. “Don’t you worry. I’m not within miles of making love. But I’ve watched you for months, I have; and there’s something very charming about you. Besides, you’re quite beautiful.”
“As beautiful as Rachel?”
“Oh, much more. Look at your throat, for instance. Oh, you can’t, can you? Never mind. What——”
“Oh, but I do mind,” said Cicely, wriggling. “This is a perfect experience. For anyone to tell me I’m beautiful, except as a prelude to familiarity, is something I’ve never known.”
“Surely, Alfred——”