He flung his arms out.
“I daren’t be real,” he said. “No one knows what an abomination I am.”
Quite unexpectedly Nellie felt weary and done for. She pulled herself together for a final encouragement.
“Ah, what a hopeful sign!” she said.
He lingered a moment.
“Quarter to eight,” he said. “We dine at half-past. Think of the old quarter-to-eights! Ritz, opera, Mrs. Trentham! Charlie and Bobby and Tommy and me and you, and Sophy and Ella and any fool you like to mention. Lord Poole, now——”
“No, that won’t do,” said she. “He was real. I grant you the rest weren’t. But he was real: he completely enjoyed himself—does still, bless him!”
“Wish I did,” said Peter. “I used to. And I don’t.”
“You won’t as long as you think about it.”
There was the woodland touch to finish with.