"I did. But you know, Harding, we needn't—here."
He shivered slightly and began to walk up and down before the hearth-place. When he had his back to Milly, Milly followed him with her eyes of anguish; when he turned and faced her, she met him with her white smile.
Presently he spoke again. He wondered whether they would object to his drawing the blinds down. He was afraid he would have to. Otherwise, he said, he would be seen.
Milly laid her hand on the arm that he stretched towards the window.
"Darling," she said, "you've forgotten. You can't possibly be seen—here. It's just the one place—isn't it, Agatha?—where you can't be." Her eyes signalled to Agatha to support her. (Not but what she had perfect confidence in the plan.)
It was, Agatha assented. "And Agatha knows," said Milly.
He shivered again. He had turned to Agatha.
"Forgive me if I suggest that you cannot really know. Heaven forbid that you should know."
Milly, intent on her "plan," persisted.
"But, dearest, you said yourself it was. The one place."