It was just because I was so afraid of seeming to linger, as I longed to do, that I appeared to be in such haste to finish the meal that nearly choked me, and to draw a glove over that ringless finger that felt, suddenly, so bare and unfamiliar—and lonely.
“You’ll have coffee, won’t you?”
“No, thanks.” Oh, why hadn’t I said, “Yes”?
He’d lost that scowl, he seemed so much nearer the old friendly terms again, and it was for the last time!
“I will; unless you’re in a hurry, Miss Trant? Just a moment—”
Yes! Just a moment! It was all I asked, that, and that my heart should not beat so fast and make me feel so weak and dizzy.
—“Here, boy!”—this was to a newspaper-boy who was strolling past the shop behind a large pink poster and a bundle of early evening editions.
“D’you mind if I just look up something——”
The man opposite to me unfolded the still damp sheet; his eyes on the paper gave mine the chance of one more direct, long, hungry look at his face.