“Shall I?” She went in.
He followed her.
And no sooner was she in than she muttered, “I must hurry off now.” Yet a moment before she seemed to have infinite leisure.
“Shall you be at Brighton long?” he demanded, and scarcely recognised his own accents.
“Oh! I can’t tell! I’ve no idea. It depends.”
“How soon shall you be down our way again?”
She only shook her head.
“I say—you know—” he protested.
“Good-bye,” she said, quavering. “Thanks very much.” She held out her hand.
“But—” He took her hand.