The boiled owl got up.
"It is a disgrace," he said; "I've a good mind to tell Jack."
"If you do," remarked Lily, "I shall get a divorce—that's all!"
"I'm not certain about the law in England," said Toby, with emphasis, "but I don't believe for a moment that they'd give it you for such a reason. But make the attempt. Try—do try."
"Certainly I should," said she. "But, seriously, Toby, you mustn't think of telling Jack. He and Kit have had a row, so I believe, and she doesn't like to ask him for money. I come next: I do really, because you haven't got any. Besides, you said it was rather a compliment being asked; I agree with you. But to tell Jack—preposterous!"
She stood in front of him, drawing on her long gloves, her eyes fixed on her hands. Then she looked up.
"Preposterous!" she said again.
Toby took one of the gloved hands in his.
"I love and honour you," he said simply.