But here he stood firm and repeated his refusal. She seemed surprised and a little hurt. But at the moment Babba Flint lifted his hat and bowed from the pavement with much empressement.
"The story of our drive will be half over London by midnight," said Ashley.
"It doesn't matter now," she assured him, lightly touching his hand.
"Shall you write soon?" he asked.
"Yes, to-morrow," she said. An idea seemed to strike her. "Hadn't I better telegraph?" she asked.
"Wouldn't that look unnecessarily eager?" he suggested. The notion of a telegram stirred a jealousy, not of any real fact, but of the impression that it might convey to Mr. Fenning. He did not wish Jack Fenning to suppose that his home-coming was joyously awaited. Ora had been caught with the attraction of a telegram; it would emphasise the renunciation; but she understood the objection.
"No," she said, "I'd better write. Because I shall have to explain the reasons for what I'm doing and tell him how—how we're to be to one another." She glanced at Ashley. He was looking straight in front of him. "I'll shew you the letter," she said in a low voice.
"I don't want to see the letter; I won't see it," he returned.
"Oh, it is hard for both of us!" she sighed. "But you know, dear, you know so well what you are to me; nobody ever has been or ever will be what you are. Won't you see the letter?"
"No, I won't see the letter."