"Oh, Clive! Aren't you always going to be honest with me?"
"Why do you think I am anxious concerning you when Connor and his wife—"
"Dearest!"
"What?" He looked across at her where she was serenely preparing his coffee; and when she had handed the cup to him she shook her head, gravely, as though in gentle disapproval of some inward thought of his.
"What is it?" he asked uneasily.
"You know already."
"What is it?" he repeated, reddening.
"Must I tell you, Clive?"
"I think you had better."
"You should have told me, dear.... Don't ever