“If your Euphrosyne wore a gown, describe it to me. Obviously Sir Geoffrey has begun to make love to his own wife.”
“I’ve never stopped, my dear.”
Lionel knew that this was true. And the fact illumined his horizon. His father had married for love, and remained in love. Such a true lover would warm to all lovers. Just then he remembered Prudence and Alfred. Unconsciously he frowned.
“Why do you frown?” asked Margot.
The Squire was bantering his wife. Under cover of that jolly voice, Lionel said softly:
“I happened to think of two hapless lovers with a barbed wire fence between them and marriage.”
“Really? Can’t they cut it?”
“No—it must be cut for them.”