"I don't mean to object to—to what you've been saying, Jeff. I mean—I mean object to this about poor Kitty. I know," she quickened, as if to forestall a remark, "that we haven't said anything about it—you and I—for a long time—but"—once more the rush—"I've felt you've known what I've been thinking, Jeff——"
I gained a little time. "But I wasn't speaking of Kitty Windus, dear," I said. "It was something quite different."
Then, before her look of trouble and appeal, I ceased my pretence.
"Very well, dearest," I sighed. "But tell me one thing. If I hadn't said anything to-night, you wanted to say something."
"Yes," she mumbled in a low voice to the twopenny notebook.
"Is that what Miss Levey meant when she said 'Don't forget' an hour or two ago?"
"Yes."
"You hadn't to forget to—to bring something, whatever it is, up about Kitty?"
Her silence told me that that was so. Then, slowly:
"And why should she think I should object to that?" I asked.