"Right," he said. "And it's comedy, not tragedy, we're playing. We mustn't forget that."
"No," she said uncertainly; but she was not so sure.
"And now I'm going round to the stables," he said, changing his tone. But he turned back again on his way to the door.
"What am I to call you?" he asked. "The other lady had a string of fine-sounding names. Which of them do you go by?"
She coloured. His question smote her with the strangeness of their compact.
"Only one," she said, "and that was my own. I asked your mother to call me Susan."
"Susan," he said to himself. "Susan ... I'll remember."
She took one impetuous step towards him as he was going out.
"How good you are to me," she cried unsteadily. "Oh, how good you are!"
But Barnaby shook his head.