“Anyhow, here we’ve got hysterics,” said Willoughby.
“But who told her the fellow was dead?”
“Why, his pals. I thought so myself. When a man’s missing where’s one to suppose him to be—having supper at the Savoy?”
“Well, I give women up,” said Smithers. “I thought she’d be glad.”
“I believe you’re a married man?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well, I ain’t,” said Willoughby, and in a couple of strides he stood close to Jeanne. He laid a gentle hand on her heaving shoulders.
“Pas tué! Soolmong blessé,” he shouted.
She sprang, as it were, to attention, like a frightened recruit.