"Do you want him to know?"
"I don't care."
"You don't care, huh? Got that way now, so that you don't care. You'll marry me this afternoon."
She looked up.
"This afternoon?"
"Yuh. You'd better tell the doctor; you can tell him anything else you like about Morelle—but if you don't tell, I won't."
Her hand had gone up to her cheek.
"This afternoon—I can't—give me a day—you said it would be tomorrow. I'm not ready."
"This afternoon at half past two. Will you tell the doctor, or shall I?"
She was trying to think.