"Yes. I suppose I am jealous."
"Is that fair? There isn't anything to be jealous about."
"Forgive me!" His hand gripped her knee. "But I can't bear his being your husband even in name. Aliette, kiss me."
"No." She knew that she must not yield to him. "No. We've got to be sensible. We've got to make plans."
"We can make plans to-morrow."
"We can't. Don't you see that when I go back to--to his house this evening, I'll have to tell him? It wouldn't be straight if I didn't. We've got to be straight, haven't we?"
"Yes." The flame went out of his eyes, leaving them cold and hard as agate. "We've got to be straight. But--telling him isn't your job. It's mine." He heaved himself up from the settee; and she had her first glimpse of a different Ronnie--a fighting Ronnie, chin protruded, lips set. "My job," he repeated.
"I'm not Andromeda. I don't want a Perseus to free me from the dragon." She tried chaff; but chaff left him unmoved. She tried argument; but argument only strengthened the resolve in him. Finally she said:
"There's no need to say much. Hector knows everything--except your name."
"You told him?" There was no anger in the phrase.