"It was so, though. Wasn't it?"
"I shan't tell you," said the girl, whose hand had not been held by anyone since that magic evening in a boat. "Why should I?"
"Don't trouble to tell me. I know."
"Then why d'you ask me?" she returned with a little ripple of laughter. "Besides, why should you mind?"
"'Mind?'" retorted Captain Ross, laughing in his turn, but louder. "If I'd nothing worse than that to 'mind' about, I shouldn't be the busy man I am."
He turned to the menu; and Olwen, going on with her lunch, remembered Mrs. Newton's verdict, "He's a jealous thing!"
She ought to have been wildly delighted....
Curious! She was only flattered; amused.
She felt oddly conscious today, that (to parody a superannuated song), she was not the only girl in the world, and he was not the only boy. That little restaurant alone was crowded with girl workers, busy as she was, being taken out to lunch by khaki of every grade and age; and, by the way, there was something to be noticed about all these girls and young women from Government offices. Once, a girl worker found it hard to hit the mean between being fluffily unsuitable or unbecomingly severe. Today these girls were approximating to a new type; pretty but durable. The London day that began in the office and ended in restaurant and theatre with an "on-leaver" without the possibility of going home to change, had done way with fripperies, but had brought decorativeness into the worker's kit. That was why skirts were short, coats impertinently neat, and hair done so that it stayed done.
"Sensible" shoes, too, were now made in pretty styles; and since taxis were problematical on wet days, rain-coats and rain-hats were at last becoming things. This mixture of utility and attractiveness was a gift of war-time to British girlhood.