He smiled. "Should you care?"
She reflected a moment. "No!" she shouted, boldly. "What difference?"
"Godolphin would pay any sum for the privilege of using the fact as an advertisement. If he could put it into Pinney's hands, and give him carte blanche, to work in all the romance he liked—"
"Brice!" she shrieked.
"Well, we needn't give it away, and if we don't, nobody else will."
"No, and we must always keep it sacredly secret. Promise me one thing!"
"Twenty!"
"That you will let me hold your hand all through the first performance of that part. Will you?"
"Why, we shall be set up like two brazen images in a box for all the first-nighters to stare at and the society reporters to describe. What would society journalism say to your holding my hand throughout the tender passages? It would be onto something personal in them in an instant."
"No; now I will show you how we will do." They were sitting in a nook of the rocks, in the pallor of the late September sunshine, with their backs against a warm bowlder. "Now give me your hand."