“—When I tell you you’re the only man in the world!——”
“I want you to engage yourself to me. You can take your time about marrying me if you’re afraid it will spoil your career. But I want the world to know we’re engaged.”
“Why, dear?” she asked in uneasy surprise.
“Because that will place us both, definitely.”
“Goodness,” she murmured uncertainly, “I didn’t suppose that falling in love was so complicated.... Darling! I haven’t time to—to find out how to get rid of that man, now; or do it, either——”
“It will have to be done sooner or later,” he insisted. “And that’s that, as you say.”
Until coffee was served they spoke rarely and of other matters.
After coffee, in the living-room, she brought out a packet of stills to show him. They went over them, minutely, consulting, criticising, she explaining every picture and its relation to the continuity.
“You should hear Mr. Creevy bellow, ‘Hold it! Hold it! D’ye think I told you to shimmy?’ Oh, he is rough, Barry. The first time I heard him bawl out, ‘Kill that nigger!’ I was terrified: I thought there was going to be a lynching——”
They sat laughing uncontrollably at each other.