He turned around in amazement, for the first time realizing that he was not alone. "I beg your pardon," he said.
The girl remembered that he was a stranger to her, but after all, what did it matter? "I asked you to stop whistling," she said.
He answered "Certainly!" and continued to look at her. She returned his gaze with a disapprobation which she scarcely attempted to conceal.
"Sort of habit I get into," he explained, "when I'm in the dumps."
"Does it do you any good?" she asked. "If so, I'll learn how to whistle myself."
"Meaning," he remarked, "that we are companions in—dumpiness?"
She shrugged her shoulders, but did not trouble to reply.
"I wish to God," he exclaimed, "I'd never left Cape Town!"
Then for the first time she looked at him with a gleam of interest, and asked, "Do you come from South Africa?"
He nodded. "I did, and I only wish I were back there. I could always keep my head above water there, but London is a rotten hole. I suppose it's because I don't know the runs," he added meditatively. "Anyhow, it's broke me."