She hesitated; then, as if at my tone, gave a laugh. "Don't you suppose I've told him?"
I really couldn't but admire her. "Ah—so you have talked!"
It didn't confound her. "One's husband isn't talk. You're cruel moreover," she continued, "to my joke. It was Briss, poor dear, who talked—though, I mean, only to me. He knows."
I cast about. "Since when?"
But she had it ready. "Since this evening."
Once more I couldn't but smile. "Just in time then! And the way he knows——?"
"Oh, the way!"—she had at this a slight drop. But she came up again. "I take his word."
"You haven't then asked him?"
"The beauty of it was—half an hour ago, upstairs—that I hadn't to ask. He came out with it himself, and that—to give you the whole thing—was, if you like, my moment. He dropped it on me," she continued to explain, "without in the least, sweet innocent, knowing what he was doing; more, at least, that is, than give her away."
"Which," I concurred, "was comparatively nothing!"