She hesitated.
"Somehow," she confessed, "it seems a little different now.
"It needn't," he replied. "I am content with what I have."
She glanced at the calendar.
"Tuesday?" she suggested.
"Tuesday would suit me admirably," he assented.
She let him out herself, and he kissed her fingers. He was never quite sure whether he walked down the stairs or whether he rang for the lift. He was never quite sure whether he looked for a taxi or decided to walk. He passed over the bridge, and the lights reflected in the dark waters below seemed suddenly like jewels. He made his way to his club because of the sheer impossibility of sleep. He stood on the threshold of the reading room and looked in at the little group of semi-somnolent men. In his way he was popular, and he received a good many sleepy greetings.
"What's the matter with Borden?" one man drawled. "He looks as though some one had left him a fortune."
"He has probably discovered another literary star," a rival publisher suggested.
"I wish to God some one would send him to a decent tailor!" a third man yawned.