“But where?”
“West Kensington.”
“So do I,” cried Michael, thinking to himself that all the gods of luck and love were fighting on his side this afternoon. “We’ll walk home together.”
“Shall we?” murmured the girl, poised on bent toes as if she were minded to flee from him in a breath.
“Oh, we must,” vowed Michael.
“But I mustn’t dawdle,” she protested.
“Of course not,” he affirmed with almost an inflexion of puritanical rigour.
“You’re leaving your book, stupid,” she laughed, as he rose to take his place by her side.
“I wouldn’t have minded, because all that’s in that book is in you,” he declared. “I think I’ll leave it behind for a lark.”
She ran back lightly and opened it to see whether his name were on the front page.