Her warning whisper brought him into a delicious conspiracy with her. "Which is your husband?" he whispered back.
"There! Near the casement, standing gazing open-mouthed at Cecilia. He always opens his mouth when she sings. It is like two toys moved by the same wire."
He looked at the tall, stalwart, ruddy-haired Anglo-Saxon. "Do you mean to say he—?"
"I mean to say nothing."
"But you said—"
"I said 'worse.'"
"Why, what can be worse?"
She put her hand over her face. "I am ashamed to tell you." How adorable was that half-divined blush!
"But you must tell me everything." He scarcely knew how he had leapt into this rôle of confessor. He only felt they were "moved by the same wire."
Her head drooped on her breast. "He—beats—me."