"I beg your pardon."
She turned quickly and looked at Franklin Herrick.
Jean spoke first. "I don't know why it is so surprising. I suppose it would have been stranger if we hadn't met."
"But I didn't know you were here."
"No, of course you didn't."
They stood looking at each other. Herrick had grown heavier, his features had coarsened. He looked untidy.
"I—I am really glad."
Jean smiled. The implication of possible regret on her part was so Herricky.
"Why, no, why should I?" She answered his unspoken thought, but Herrick did not notice. The interest of the thing claimed him as nothing had done for months. He had once been married to this large, prosperous-looking person, the one woman whom he had never been able to influence, to swerve a hair from her own path. And here she was after eleven years, looking at him with the same straight look, throwing aside all sentiment, going violently to the bottom of every little question, as if it were a matter of importance.
"Could we go and have tea somewhere? Unless you are in a hurry."