“But, my dear girl, an omission like that is not deliberate deceit.”
“Omission,” came softly, “is often twin sister to commission.”
His lips went tight. “Does that mean you’d ever let anything as cheap as suspicion of me enter your mind?”
She got up, brushing her mouth across the hard line of his. “If I love you as much as I do, it’s reasonable to suppose other women might.”
And that was when she gave him the story of Thorne’s play—more to change the subject than anything else—with eyes shining and slim jeweled hands sending sparks into the room’s golden shadows. He listened, watching her, the light on her face, the blaze of enthusiasm under the thick lashes.
“It’s a splendid part for Lilla,” she ended. “She’ll be fascinating in it, don’t you think?”
“Great!” And after a moment, “Nancy—does seeing so much of Thorne and old Jerry ever tempt you to go back on the stage?”
She went close to him as if his bigness were a shelter.
“It’s a temptation I’d never acknowledge, dear heart—not even to myself.”
“But you haven’t answered me.”