"I only told you because you never tell things, and because----"
"Because?" He waited, smiling.
"Because I wanted you to see he doesn't count."
"Well--but _she_'s all right, I take it?"
At first she failed to grasp his implication that if, owing to his
affliction, Harding Powell didn't count, Milly, his young wife did. Her
faculties of observation and of inference would, he took it, be
unimpaired.
"_She_'ll wonder, won't she?" he expounded.
"About us? Not she. She's too much wrapped up in him to notice anyone."
"And he?"
"Oh, my dear--He's too much wrapped up in _it_."
Another anxiety then came to him.
"I say, you know, he isn't dangerous, is he?"
She laughed.
"Dangerous? Oh dear me, no! A lamb."