"Cleone, you think too much," he chided her. "Next you will accuse me of loving Ann Nutley!" It was a master-stroke, and he knew it.
"You didn't? Not a tiny bit?"
"Not an atom!"
"And no one—in Paris?"
"No one. I have pretended, but they all knew that I had already lost my heart."
"You pretended?... Oh!"
"One must, sweetest."
"But—"
He drew her closer.
"But never, most beautiful, did I become engaged—twice in one evening!" He stifled the cry that rose to her lips.