"Not now. Not ever. Not another word. Never mind the Boussingaults. Boussingault is a physician, after all, and will understand when I tell him."
"Don't tell him, Jim."
"We'll see; we'll see."
"Please don't. I hate him so, I never want to have to think of him again."
"Don't you bother, dearie. You are the finest woman that ever lived."
"But, Jim, I'm not." She kept her head averted. "I am—I dare say I am as bad——"
"Stop," he commanded. "I won't hear it. Not even from you. I will not. Think, dearest: we are foolish to be unhappy. We have every reason in the world to be happy. We are rich. We have no business to bother or interfere with whatever we may want to do. We love each other and soon"—he broke the tacit treaty of silence concerning their child—"in a few months we are to have a little baby to complete everything."
"Don't!" said Muriel.
But Stainton took her by both hands and raised her and kissed her.
"Not this time," he said. "This once I am going to have my way. I am going to make you happy in spite of yourself. We shall never see or hear of Boussingault again if you are only as obedient as you are nearly always. It is still early afternoon. We are going out together and make a tour of the shops."