"None at all. I've never known a tree of Mrs. Beever's of which the fruit hasn't been sweet."
"Well, in the present case—sweet or bitter!—it's ready to fall. This is the hour the years have pointed to. You think highly of Paul———"
Tony Bream took her up. "And I think highly of Jean, and therefore I must see them through? I catch your meaning. But have you—in a matter composed, after all, of ticklish elements—thought of the danger of one's meddling?"
"A great deal." A troubled vision of this danger dawned even now in Rose's face. "But I've thought still more of one's possible prudence—one's occasional tact." Tony, for a moment, made no reply; he quitted the hammock and began to stroll about. Her anxious eyes followed him, and presently she brought out: "Have you really been supposing that they've given it up?"
Tony remained silent; but at last he stopped short, and there was an effect of returning from an absence in the way he abruptly demanded: "That who have given up what?"
"That Mrs. Beever and Paul have given up what
