Tavernake opened the outside door with a small key and they passed into the street.
“London Bridge Station is just across the way,” he said. “The refreshment room will be open and we can get some breakfast at once.”
“What time is it?” she asked.
“About half-past seven.”
She walked by his side quite meekly, and although there were many things which she was longing to say, she remained absolutely without the power of speech. Except that he was looking a little crumpled, there was nothing whatever in his appearance to indicate that he had been up all night. He looked exactly as he had done on the previous day, he seemed even quite unconscious that there was anything unusual in their relations. As soon as they arrived at the station, he pointed to the ladies' waiting-room.
“If you will go in and arrange your hair there,” he said, “I will go and order breakfast and have a shave. I will be back here in about twenty minutes. You had better take this.”
He offered her a shilling and she accepted it without hesitation. As soon as he had gone, however, she looked at the coin in her hand in blank wonder. She had accepted it from him with perfect naturalness and without even saying “Thank you!” With a queer little laugh, she pushed open the swinging doors and made her way into the waiting-room.
In hardly more than a quarter of an hour she emerged, to find Tavernake waiting for her. He had retied his tie, bought a fresh collar, had been shaved. She, too, had improved her appearance.
“Breakfast is waiting this way,” he announced.
She followed him obediently and they sat down at a small table in the station refreshment-room.