"
"What is it?"
"My rooms are in Regent Street--"
"I know; I looked up the number the other day in the _Who's Who?_
after we'd had lunch."
"Was that to know if I'd told the truth?" He held her eyes for the
answer as you put your metal in the vice.
"No, of course not! How could you think I'd dream of such a thing?"
"Many women might."
"I certainly shouldn't."
A look of tenderness as it passed across his face freed her. She
turned her eyes away. He was finding her so absolutely a child, and
on the moment paused. There is a moment when a pause holds possibility
laden full in its two hands. He let it slip by--it rode off like a
feather on the wind. He lost sight of it.
"Well, what's your suggestion?" she asked.
"That we should come back to Regent Street, sit and talk; we'll have
our coffee there; I'll show you how to make it."
He tried to run the whole sentence through. Set it on its feet, and
pushed it to the conclusion that it might seem natural,
unpremeditated. She saw nothing forced; but his ears burnt to the
stumbling sounds. The breath caught in his nostrils as he waited for
her definite refusal.
"I think that would be lovely," she said with genuine interest.
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