"When will you come and have a long talk?"
"Will you dine with me to-morrow night?" he begged eagerly. "In the afternoon I have committee meetings. Thursday afternoon you could come down to the House, if you cared to."
"Of course I should, but hadn't you better dine here?" she suggested.
"I can ask Alice and another man."
"I want to see you alone," he insisted, "for the first time, at any rate."
"Then will you take me to that little place you told me of in Soho?" she suggested. "I don't want a whole crowd to know that I am in town just yet. Don't think that it sounds vain, but people have such a habit of almost carrying one off one's feet. I want to prowl about London and do ordinary things. One or two theatres, perhaps, but no dinner parties. I shan't stay long, I don't suppose. As soon as I hear from Mr. Segerson that the snow has gone and that terrible north wind has died away, I know I shall be wanting to get back."
"You are very conscientious about your work there," he complained. "Don't you ever realise that you may have an even more important mission here?"
For a single moment she seemed troubled. Her manner, when she spoke, had lost something of its calm graciousness.
"Really?" she said. "Well, you must tell me all about it to-morrow night. I shall wear a hat and you must not order the dinner beforehand. I don't mind your ordering the table, because I like a corner, but we must sail into the place just like any other two wanderers. It is agreed?"
He bent over her fingers. His good angel and his instinct of sensibility, which was always appraising her attitude towards him, prompted his studied farewell.
"You will let yourself out?" she begged. "I have taken off my cloak and
I could not face that wind."