"Sylvia Quest. She unmasked. There is no mistake."
So he was obliged to lie, after all.
"It must have been Dysart you saw. His costume is very like mine, you know——"
"Does Jack Dysart stand for minutes holding Sylvia's hands—and is she accustomed to place her hands on his shoulders, as though expecting to be kissed? And does he kiss her?"
So he had to lie again: "No, of course not," he said, smiling. "So it could not have been Dysart."
"There are only two costumes like yours and Mr. Dysart's. Do you wish me to believe that Sylvia is common and depraved enough to put her arms around the neck of a man who is married?"
There was no other way: "No," he said, "Sylvia isn't that sort, of course."
"It was either Mr. Dysart or you."
He said nothing.
"Then it was you!" in hot contempt.