"He doesn't know a thing."
"Then what in heaven's name are you talking about?"
"I'm trying to tell you. It isn't what you think. I—I'm going to be married."
Marston took his cigarette out of his mouth, and stared at it. There was no expression in his face beyond that concentrated, attentive stare.
"Good Lord. Why," he said, "couldn't you tell me that before I came down?"
"I was going to. I was going to write to you and ask you not to come."
"Good God."
He said it softly, and with calm incredulity rather than amazement.
"Who is it, Kitty? Do I know him?"
"No."