They told Geoffrey they would meet him at the corner of Hampden Street at five minutes to eleven.
“You see,” said Madame to Alvina, “they are very funny, these young men, particularly Italians. You must never let them think you have caught them. Perhaps he will not let us see him—who knows? Perhaps he will go off to Italy all the same.”
They sat in the bumping tram-car, a long and wearying journey. And then they tramped the dreary, hideous streets of the manufacturing town. At the corner of the street they waited for Geoffrey, who rode up muddily on his bicycle.
“Ask Ciccio to come out to us, and we will go and drink coffee at the Geisha Restaurant—or tea or something,” said Madame.
Again the two women waited wearily at the street-end. At last Geoffrey returned, shaking his head.
“He won’t come?” cried Madame.
“No.”
“He says he is going back to Italy?”
“To London.”
“It is the same. You can never trust them. Is he quite obstinate?”