"Anybody here?" she called out timidly. She was in the clerk's office, which was empty; but she could hear movements in another room. The place seemed in process of being dismantled.
Suddenly George Cannon appeared in a doorway, frowning.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Cannon!"
"Good afternoon, Miss Lessways." He spoke with stiff politeness. His face looked weary.
After a slight hesitation he advanced, and they shook hands. Hilda was nervous. Her neglect of his letter now presented itself to her as inexcusable. She thought: "If he is vexed about it I shall have to humour him. I really can't blame him. He must think me very queer."
"I was wondering what had become of you," he said, amply polite, but not cordial.
"Well," she said, "every day I was expecting you to call again, or to send me a note or something.... And what with one thing and another--"
"I dare say your time's been fully occupied," he filled up her pause. And she fancied that he spoke in a peculiar tone. She absurdly fancied that he was referring to the time which she had publicly spent with Edwin Clayhanger at the Centenary. She conceived that he might have seen her and Edwin Clayhanger together.
"I had a letter from Miss Gailey this morning," she said. "And it seems that it's about her that you wanted--"
"Yes."