“But leaving out everything else—it seems so damned cheeky! When Elinor's got everything, including all the money in the world, and I—”
“We talked that over a long time ago, remember? And remember what we decided—that it didn't matter, in this year and world at least. Of course I'm assuming that you're really in love with her—”
“I am,” from Ted very soberly. “Oh I am, all right.”
“Well then, go ahead. And, Theodore, I shall watch your antic motions with the greatest sarcastic delight, both now and in the future—either way it breaks. Moreover I'll take anybody out of the action that you don't want around—and if there were anything else I could do—”
“Got to win off my own service,” says Ted. “You know. But thanks all the same. Only when I think of—some incidents of Paris—and how awful near I've come to making a complete fool of myself with that Severance woman in the last month—well—”
“Look here, Ted.” Oliver is really worried. “You're not going to let that—interfere—are you? Right now?”
“I've got to tell her.” Ted's smile is a trifle painful. “Got to, you know. Oh not that. But France. The whole business.”
“But good heavens, man, you aren't going to make it the start of the conversation?”
“Well—maybe not. But it's all got to be—explained. Only way I'll ever feel decent—and I don't suppose I'll feel too decent then.”
“But Ted—oh it's your game, of course. Only I don't think it's being—fair—to either of you to tell her just now.”