“Certainly not,” she replied, taking it away. “Certainly not. Do you want me to be sorry I came out with you?”
“I should like you to be glad,” he replied. “Never mind, Miss Chivvey, forgive me. I won’t ask you out again.”
“Why not? Haven’t I been nice?”
“Very nice. Too nice, too charming, too dangerous.” He kissed her hand respectfully. “Good-bye. I’m angry with myself.”
“Never mind, I’ll forgive you,” she laughed flippantly.
He drove away. Yes, one loses one’s bearings travelling about alone, taking jeunes filles to the theatre who live alone in Paris, say anything, have no chaperons, and are prudes all the time.
“Confound it. I’ve made a fool of myself. But I must go and see Rupert.”
He lunched with that young man that day and told him word for word what had passed, even to the incident in the cab.
He need not have been so expansive nor have humbled himself so much.
Rupert had not for a moment misconstrued their presence at the theatre.