But she
did laugh; she did listen while he stammered his ideas of
meat-pies and St. Paul's and aeroplanes and Shelley and fog and
tan shoes. In fact, she supposed him to be a gentleman and
scholar, not an American.
He went to the cocoa-house daily.
She let him know that he was a man and she a woman, young and
kindly, clear-skinned and joyous-eyed. She touched him with
warm elbow and plump hip, leaning against his chair as he gave
his order. To that he looked forward from meal to meal, though he
never ceased harrowing over what he considered a shameful intrigue.
That opinion of his actions did not keep him from tingling one
lunch-time when he suddenly understood that she was expecting to
be tempted. He tempted her without the slightest delay,
muttering, "Let's take a walk this evening?"
She accepted. He was shivery and short of breath while he was
trying to smile at her during the rest of the meal, and so he
remained all afternoon at the Tower of London, though he very
well knew that all this history--"kings and gwillotines and
stuff"--demanded real Wrenn thrills.
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