"Ugh!" he said, grunting with satisfaction. With calm pleasure she enjoyed the knowledge of his great muscular strength; but she did not respond to him at all. Toby jerked towards her, so that his head rested against her side, and Sally mechanically crooked her arm lightly over his further cheek. Toby blinked a little, and yawned, and looked at the sunshine. "Wha's time?" he gaped. "Oh-o-oo."
"Dunno. Oo, bless me!" Sally roused herself. "I mustn't be late." She reached out for Toby's watch, on the table at his side of the bed, and held it up to the light. The time was half-past-seven. She looked at the old watch, a cheap one with a loud tick. "I'll give you a watch, one day," she said, condescendingly. "A watch."
"Here!" Toby's voice changed. He caught her wrist sharply—so sharply that Sally almost dropped the watch on the quilt. "What's that?" His tone was so strange that she was surprised, and tried to follow his glance. It rested upon her hand—upon the wedding ring. Sally's blood froze.
"Oh, that?" she said, with an attempt to be easy. "Can't come into a place like this.... I mean, without a ring of some sort."
"Oh?" asked Toby, sternly. "You know all about it, don't you?"
"Well?" Sally was frightened, but simulating defiance. "It's true, isn't it?"
"Where'd you get it?"
"Shop." She was so afraid that she was insolent.
"I s'pose you're used to this sort of thing," cried Toby. He sat up beside her, his face deeply crimsoned, his expression accusing. "Used to it, are you?"
"No!" answered Sally.