“Hang the expense.”
“Then come on.”
He had no idea where she was taking him, and he didn’t care. All places were alike, so long as he was alone with her. They walked shoulder to shoulder, their arms just touching. Sometimes in crossing a road they drew apart and then, as if to apologize for their brief aloofness, came together with a little bump on the farther pavement. They were embarrassed, and glad to be embarrassed. When their silences had lasted too long, they stole furtive glances at each other; when their eyes met, they smiled archly.
They had passed through the tunnels where the dogs take their morning walks, and had come out on to Broadway. Suddenly she stopped and regarded him with an expression of unutterable calamity.
“I’ve got to go back.”
“No, don’t—please.”
“I must.”
He scented tragedy—a previous engagement, perhaps. “But why—why, when we’ve only just met?”
“I’ve forgotten your lilies. I was going to wear them as—as an apology.”
He laughed his relief. “Pooh! There are heaps more.”