"'Tis a cruel thing you've done, lad. “What’s the objection?” “I suppose she ought to know?” said Gwen to her mother, trying to alter the key of the conversation. She lit the cigarette with a tiny Kelly green drugstore lighter. That was the Frenchie, Valade, surely. "If I spoke to him, my interest might be misinterpreted. I kept watch over you, for fear of a surprise on the part of Jonathan. We two just love each other—the real, identical other—all the time. He too was flushed and ruffled; one side of his collar had slipped from its stud and he held a hand to the corner of his jaw. I learned of your betrothal, gleaned all the information I could simply by eavesdropping.
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