Miserably enough Gertrude murmured:
“Are you in love with Annette?”
Hotly and indignantly he answered:
“No, I am not.”
“But you . . .”
“I was not making love to Annette. It was an accident.”
Gertrude jumped at the occasion for magnanimity and said:
“I believe you.”
“Thank you.” His heart leaped within him, and privately to his own innermost conscience he whispered delightedly:
“I am in love with Annette; in love, in love, in love with Annette.”