"I have lived in London for eight years. I'm working with Marechal et Cie, the big silk merchants. I had some business to transact in Kensington and took the opportunity of walking through the Gardens this beautiful day."
"Then I must not detain you," she murmured.
With a gesture he disposed of any urgency in his business.
"You were in a greater hurry last time we were together," Mary reminded him.
She blushed at the adverb she had used, for it seemed to sweep them toward an intimacy that she felt was imprudent.
"I was not old enough last time, Mademoiselle, to appreciate my good fortune. And you were, if I may say so, a very little girl in those days, Mademoiselle."
While they were talking, they had moved away from the populous Broad Walk and were wandering now through a grove of elms. Mary looking round realized that they were as much alone together as if they were in the country. Yet not for anything would she have been anywhere else, not for anything would she have missed this new music in the twittering of the sparrows overhead, this fresh glow in the grass, this sudden accord of herself with the Spring.
"I ought really to be going home," she murmured. "I only came out to give my little dog a run."
"See how much he is enjoying himself on the grass. I could never have the heart to deprive him of a moment's pleasure, Mademoiselle. I should indeed be ingrat."
They were wandering deeper into the green heart of the Gardens. Mary, looking over her shoulder, saw the houses of Kensington lose themselves in a mist of bare boughs, heard the traffic sound more faintly, ceased to feel the slightest desire to solve the riddle of the universe, and threw all the responsibility of her behavior upon Fate.