"I don't agree with you."
"I do. Listen. You asked me just now to come away with you. You didn't ask me to marry you."
Maurice bubbled over with undelivered explanations.
"Wait. I wouldn't marry you not if you asked me. I don't want you to ask me. Only—"
"Only what?" Maurice inquired gloomily.
"Only if I did all you wanted, I'd be giving everything—more than you'd give, even if you married a ballet girl."
"Do let me explain," Maurice begged. "You absolutely misunderstand me.... Oh, Lord, we're nearly at Hagworth Street.... I've only time to say quite baldly what I mean. Look here, if you married me you wouldn't like it. You wouldn't like meeting all my people and having to be conventional and pay calls and adapt yourself to a life that you hadn't been brought up to. I'd marry you like a shot. I don't believe in class distinctions or any of that humbug. But you'd be happier not married. Can't you see that? You'd be happier the other way.... There's your turning. There's no time for more.... Only do think over what I've said and don't misjudge me ... darling girl, good night."
"Good night."
"A long kiss."
Reasons, policies, plans and all the paraphernalia of expediency vanished when she from the steps of her home listened to the bells of the hansom dying away in the distance, and when he, huddled in a corner of the cab, was conscious but of the perfume of one who was lately beside him.