I stooped to straighten my spat. When I looked up, the servants had disappeared. I glanced through the leaves to see them pass into the dining-room.
"Gone?" said the girl. I nodded.
"Thank goodness! And now, who are you? I believe one is supposed to get to know one's husband on the honeymoon."
I took one of the letters the footman had given me out of my pocket.
"I am," said I, "Sir Peter Tagel. That's why you're 'my lady'.
"Is it really? And now, your alias?"
"I'll tell you when we separate. Meanwhile, I do hope I shall make you happy. When the time comes I shall win you bread. To do this I shall, of course, have to leave your side. But that's for after. Till then—but I fear my thoughtless reference to our parting has unnerved you. You are overwrought. Lean upon me. That's what I'm for. I am your man—your husband. Where's that come from?"
"Surrey, I should think."
I frowned at my cigarette. "I don't think you're honouring me enough," I said. "Of course, it's early days yet, but—good heavens! What about the ring?"
"What about it?"