My friend had caught up. "Oh, you've a standard of wit!"
"No, I've only a sense of reality—a sense not at all satisfied by the theory of such an influence as Lady John's."
She wondered. "Such a one as whose else then?"
"Ah, that's for us still to find out! Of course this can't be easy; for as the appearance is inevitably a kind of betrayal, it's in somebody's interest to conceal it."
This Mrs. Brissenden grasped. "Oh, you mean in the lady's?"
"In the lady's most. But also in Long's own, if he's really tender of the lady—which is precisely what our theory posits."
My companion, once roused, was all there. "I see. You call the appearance a kind of betrayal because it points to the relation behind it."
"Precisely."
"And the relation—to do that sort of thing—must be necessarily so awfully intimate."
"Intimissima."