'But, Cicely, don't you see——'
She straightened up now, knife in one hand, fork in the other; looked directly at him; slowly shook her head.
'What,' she asked, 'has money to do with—with you and me?'
'But, Cicely, you don't mean——'
He saw the sudden sparkle in her dark eyes, the slow slight smile that parted her lips.
She turned away then.
'Oh,' she remarked, rather timidly, 'you'll want these,' and gave him the knife and fork.
He laid them on the table.
They stood for a little time without speaking; she fingering the fastener of the cake box, he pulling at his moustache. Finally, very softly, she said this:—
'Of course, Henry, you know, we would really have to be very patient, and not say anything about it to people until—well, until we could, you know....'