“When shall you come back?”
“Oh! Very soon. I hope in a few days, now. But I must go to this friend at Brighton. She’s relying on me.”
It was enough for him, and indeed he liked the idea of a secret. “Yes, yes,” he agreed eagerly.
There was the sound of another uproar in Duck Square. It appeared to roll to and fro thunderously.
She shivered. The fire was dead out in the stove, and the chill of night crept in from the street.
“It’s nearly dark,” she said. “I must go! I have to pack... Oh dear, dear—those poor men! Somebody will be hurt!”
“I’ll walk up with you,” he whispered, holding her, in owner ship.
“No. It will be better not. Let me out.”
“Really?”
“Really!”