She kept on wondering what she should do if he wanted to kiss her. The mere incongruity of such a desire on his part formed a problem. Luckily, for this evening he formulated no desire, but left her in the shop-door soon after nine, with the request:
“I shall see you in the week, shan’t I?”
“I’m not sure. I can’t promise now,” she said hurriedly. “Good-night.”
What she felt chiefly about him was a decentralized perplexity, very much akin to no feeling at all.
“Who do you think took me for a walk, Miss Pinnegar?” she said, laughing, to her confidante.
“I can’t imagine,” replied Miss Pinnegar, eyeing her.
“You never would imagine,” said Alvina. “Albert Witham.”
“Albert Witham!” exclaimed Miss Pinnegar, standing quite motionless.
“It may well take your breath away,” said Alvina.
“No, it’s not that!” hurriedly expostulated Miss Pinnegar. “Well—! Well, I declare!—” and then, on a new note: “Well, he’s very eligible, I think.”