"Why were you waiting in King Street?" she asked suddenly.
The words hurried, tumbling in a confusion of self-consciousness
from her lips.
"Oh--you saw me there?" said he.
"Yes."
"You saw me when you passed?"
"Yes."
"Did you know I was walking behind you all the way to Piccadilly
Circus?"
"N--no--how should I?"
"You looked back once or twice."
"Did I?"
"Why do you want to know why I was waiting in King Street?"
"I don't want to know particularly."
"Shall I tell you?"
"Yes."
"I had seen you through the window--working at that ghastly
typewriter--stood there for more than a quarter of an hour--down the
street--waiting till you got sick of it. Then I was going to ask you
to come and have tea with me--dinner if you'd liked. I wanted some
one to talk to; I was going back to my rooms. When they're empty,
a man's rooms can be the most godless--"
She stood up abruptly, striking her hat against the roof of the
umbrella.
"Will you let me out, please?"
"But you told me you were going to Hammersmith. This is only
Knightsbridge."
"I'm getting down here."
He stood up. "I've offended you," he said quietly.
"Did you imagine you would not?"
"No--I suppose I didn't--but I wasn't going to let that stop me from
making your acquaintance.
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