"You are going to take me home, are you not?" she asked.
"Of course," he replied, his eyes still fixed with a shade of regret upon the closed door of Louise's little house. "No. 10 Southampton Street," he told the driver.
They turned round and spun once more into the network of moving vehicles and streaming pedestrians. John was silent, and his companion, for a little while, humored him. Soon, however, she touched him on the arm.
"This is still your first night in London," she reminded him, "and there is to-morrow. You are going to lunch with her to-morrow. Won't you talk to me, please?"
He shut the door upon a crowd of disturbing thoughts and fantastic imaginings, and smiled back at her. Her fingers remained upon his arm. A queer gravity had come into her dainty little face.
"Are you really in love with Louise?" she inquired, with something of his own directness.
He answered her with perfect seriousness.
"I believe so," he admitted, "but I should not like to say that I am absolutely certain. I have come here to find out."
Sophy suddenly rocked with laughter.
"You are the dearest, queerest madman I have ever met!" she exclaimed, holding tightly to his arm. "You sit there with a face as long as a fiddle, wondering whether you are in love with a girl or not! Well, I am not going to ask you anything more. Tell me, are you tired?"