"Come along," he said; "they're just down here—in Regent Street."
She followed him silently—silently, but in that moment her spirits had lifted. There was a wider swing in her walk. But he took no notice of that; he was not observant.
She hummed a tune with a rather pretty voice as she walked up the flights of stairs behind him.
"Gosh! it's dark," she exclaimed.
"Oh, it's none of your bachelor flats with lifts and attendants and electric lights," he replied.
On the third landing she stopped—out of breath again.
"Tired?" he said.
"There—" she laid a hand on her chest and breathed heavily. Then she moved a step nearer to him.
"Give us a kiss, dearie," she whispered.
He retreated a step. "My dear child—I didn't want you for that. Come up to the next floor when you've got your breath. I'll go on and light the candles."