The square was deserted, the lights in the little shops, where old furniture and lace and jewels were sold, were all put out and the large policeman who had been standing at the corner had moved away.
“I don’t want anything to eat,” she said. She dropped the bag and covered her face with both her hands. She was going to cry, but he was not afraid; he was rather glad and, not without pleasure at his own daring, he removed a hand, tucked it under his arm, and said, “Come along.”
She struggled. “I can’t. I must go to London. If you want to help me you’ll find out about the trains. I can go to Mrs. Banks. I can’t go back to Radstowe.”
“Henrietta,” he said firmly, “come and have dinner and we’ll talk about it.”
“If you’ll promise to help me.”
“There’s nothing I want to do so much,” he said. “We mustn’t forget the bag.”
“Somewhere quiet, Charles,” she murmured.
“Somewhere good,” he emended.
She looked down, “Such old clothes.”
“It doesn’t matter what you wear,” he told her. “You always look different from anybody else.”