“Why should you choke?” said Sylvia, opening her eyes in surprise.
When she and Wilbraham were driving along the Via Appia that afternoon, for Wilbraham as yet could not walk without difficulty, she told him, with satisfaction and a good deal of emphasis, of Teresa’s promise.
“Yes,” he returned indifferently. But he began to fidget. He often fidgeted over Sylvia’s careful explanations.
“Because, you see, it really seemed so strange that you two should not call each other by your Christian names! If you’re not related, you’re going to be related, quite nearly related, and then I don’t see how you could help it. Do you?”
“No.”
“No. Exactly. That’s what I said to Teresa,”—Sylvia’s voice was very low and confidential—“I said I thought it sounded so funny for her to call her brother-in-law Mr Wilbraham, and she said you weren’t her brother-in-law yet.”
“And what,” he asked, forcing himself into interest, “did you answer to that obvious fact?”
“Of course I said it was all the same, and she said that sometimes people who were engaged did not marry, and I said that people were very silly. So they are, aren’t they?”
There was a twist, a muttered exclamation by her side, and Sylvia turned anxiously.
“Does your leg hurt you so much to-day?”