'I shouldn't think so.'
'Are there any little pink cakes?'
'Heaps. Far more than will ever be eaten.'
'Now, don't talk to me, Anne. I'm going to read for a quarter of an hour.'
She took up a novel and read two pages, then looked up at the clock and turned pale.
'It's five. Is that clock fast?'
'No; listen, the church clock's striking. Good-bye.'
Anne went, and Hyacinth kissed her hand to her and arranged her hair in the mirror. She then sat down and resolved to be perfectly quiet.
Ten minutes slowly ticked away, then Hyacinth went to the window, saying to herself that it was an unlucky thing to do. She did not remain there long, then walked round and round the room. Several cabs passed, each of which she thought was going to stop. Then she sat down again, looking cool and smiling, carelessly holding a book…. Each time the cab passed. It was half-past five, rather late under the circumstances. She was angry. She resolved to be very cold to him when he first came in, or—no, she wouldn't be cold, she would pretend she didn't know he was late—hadn't noticed it; or she would chaff him about it, and say she would never wait again. She took the letter from her pocket and read it again. It said:—
'DEAR MISS VERNEY, 'May I come and see you at five o'clock tomorrow afternoon?