“Oh, but how annoying!” she said. “And I had wanted him to take me out to lunch. We haven’t seen each other for such a long time. I suppose it’s my own fault. I ought to have let him know. All the same, thank you so much, Mr. Whately.”
She had half turned to go, when Roland, with one of those sudden inspirations, of which a moment’s thought would have rendered him incapable, suggested that she should come out and lunch with him instead. “It would be so delightful for me if you would.”
As she turned towards him, her features expressing an obvious surprise, he wondered how on earth he had had the courage to ask her. He had never seen her look more beautiful than she did, standing there in the half light of the staircase, her pale blue dress silhouetted against the dull brown of the woodwork, and one arm flung out along the banister. For a moment he thought that she was going to refuse, when suddenly the look of surprise passed into a gracious smile.
“But how kind of you, Mr. Whately; I should love to.”
He took her to a smart but quiet restaurant that was mostly used by city men wishing to lunch unobtrusively with their secretaries, and they were lucky enough to find a corner table. At first he found conversation a little difficult; the waiter was so slow bringing the dishes. There were uncomfortable pauses in their talk. But by the time they had finished their fish, and drunk a little wine, Roland’s nervousness had passed. It was a delight to look at her, a delight to listen to the soft intonations of her voice; and here in the quiet intimacy of the restaurant he was able to appreciate even more acutely than at Hogstead the mystery and romance that surrounded her. The pathos of her life was actual to him; they were discussing a new novel that had been much praised, but of which she had complained a falsity to life.
“But then you are so different from the rest of us,” he had said.
“Ah, don’t say that,” she replied quickly. “I’m so anxious to be the same as all of you, to live your life and share your interests. It’s so lonely being different.”
She made him talk of himself, of his hopes and his ambitions. And he told her that in two days’ time he would be going abroad.
“In the middle of August! Before the cricket season’s over! What horrid luck!”
“Oh, no, I wanted to go,” said Roland. “I was getting tired of things. I wanted a change.”