She laughed.
"An ass, then, my dear, lies down sometimes and rolls in dust. I think you are doing it to-night. I think you were preparing to do it this afternoon. Perhaps it is the effect of London upon you?"
"London—by-the-way, where are you going for your honeymoon? I am sure you know, though Monsieur Delarey may not."
"Why are you sure?"
"Your face to-night when I asked if it was to be Italian."
She laid her hand again upon his arm and spoke eagerly, forgetting in a moment his pessimism and the little cloud it had brought across her happiness.
"You're right; I've decided."
"Italy—and hotels?"
"Where then?"