"Yes. And we're going to try to forget together."
Presently the moment came when they had to break apart, and they did it a little awkwardly, not caring to look at each other very closely. They sat down on the rail, side by side but not touching, and for some time remained silently busy regaining old levels and making new adjustments. There was considerable to adjust, certainly. At last James looked at his watch and announced that it was nearly lunch time.
"When shall we get married?" he inquired, brusk and businesslike. It may have been only his tone that Beatrice involuntarily shuddered at. She told herself it was, and then reviled herself for shuddering. It was better to be prosaic and practical.
"Oh, as soon as possible.... Now—any time you say."
"Yes, but when? When shall we tell people?"
"Oh, not just yet...." she objected, almost automatically.
"Why not? Why not right now—before the other?"
"You think...?"
"Yes—every moment counts." He meant that the sooner the thing came out the better were their chances of concealment, and she understood him. Yes, that was the way to look at things, she reflected; might as well do it well, if it was to be done at all. She warmed up to his point of view so quickly that when his next question came she was able to go him one better.
"And the other—the wedding? In about a fortnight, should you say?"