She stopped in her turn and drew a little pattern on the pavement with the point of her umbrella. 'Why?'
A passer-by jostled Drake in the back. Standing there they were blocking the way. 'Isn't there anywhere we could go? Tea? One drinks tea at this hour, eh?'
'No.'
Clarice felt more mistress of herself in the open street, more able to cope with Drake while they walked in a throng. She remembered enough of yesterday to avoid even the makeshift solitude of a tea-table in a public room. 'Let us walk on,' she said. 'Can't you explain as we go? I am late.'
She moved forward as she spoke, and Drake kept pace with her, shortening his strides. The need of doing that, trifle though it was, increased his sense of responsibility towards her. 'It's so abominably deceitful, and it's my doing. I should involve you in the deceit.'
Clarice glanced at him sharply. The distress of his voice was repeated in the expression of her face. There was no doubting that he spoke sincerely.
'I had better see your father to—day,' he added.
'No,' she replied energetically; and, after a moment's pause, 'There's another way.'
'Well?'
'Let everything be as it was before yesterday. I shall not change. It will be better for you to be free. Come to me when you are ready.'