“There hasn’t been time,” he said.
“Oh, Charles, it only takes a minute.”
“Well, run home quickly. This bag’s a nuisance,” he said, but he looked at it tenderly. How he had dogged that bag! How heavy it had seemed for her! “Look here, I’ll take it home and get it to you to-morrow somehow.”
“I don’t want it. I hate it.”
He thought, “I’ll keep it, then,” and aloud he said, “I’ll wrap the things up in a parcel and let you have them. Nothing you don’t want me to see, is there?”
“No, nothing.”
“All right. Do get out, dear. No, I shall drive on.”
She lingered on the pavement. She had not said a word of thanks. She jumped on to the step and put her head through the window. “Thank you, kind Charles,” she said.
“Henrietta,” he began in a loud voice, filling the dark interior with sound, “Henrietta—”
“What is it?”