"Is he blind then?" asked John with his cloistral naïveté.
"Blind? No, love is blind. Marriage is never blind."
The bitterness in her tone pierced John. He felt vaguely the passing of some icy current from unknown seas of experience. Cecilia's voice soared out enchantingly.
"Then, marriage must be deaf," he said, "or such music as that would charm it."
She smiled sadly. Her smile was the tricksy play of moonlight among clouds of faëry.
"You have never been married," she said simply.
"Do you mean that you, too, are neglected?" something impelled him to exclaim.
"Worse," she murmured.
"It is incredible!" he cried. "You!"
"Hush! My husband will hear you."