Slowly and nervously he approached her. She did not stir nor look up. Her glance was fixed on the washstand. He bent down and murmured:
“Come, now. It’ll be all right. You’ll travel in the ladies’ saloon on the steam-packet.”
She did not stir. He bent lower and touched the back of her neck with his lips. And she sprang up, sobbing and angry. Because she was mad for him she hated him furiously. All tenderness had vanished.
“I’ll thank you not to touch me!” she said fiercely. She had given him her lips a moment ago, but now to graze her neck was an insult.
He smiled sheepishly. “But really you must be reasonable,” he argued. “What have I done?”
“It’s what you haven’t done, I think!” she cried. “Why didn’t you tell me while we were in the cab?”
“I didn’t care to begin worrying you just then,” he replied: which was exactly true.
The fact was, he had of course shirked telling her that no marriage would occur that day. Not being a professional seducer of young girls, he lacked skill to do a difficult thing simply.
“Now come along, little girl,” he went on, with just a trifle of impatience. “Let’s go out and enjoy ourselves. I assure you that everything will be all right in Paris.”
“That’s what you said about coming to London,” she retorted sarcastically through her sobs. “And look at you!”