"Why not? Do you imagine I sit in chambers all day long, pining for the impossible which no alchemy of fate can apparently ever alter? I'm also a journalist. That's why I've come to see you." He spoke utterly at random.
"To see me?"
"Yes."
The waitress was standing impatiently by the table, tapping her tray with her fingers.
"What are you going to have?" he asked.
Sally snatched a swift glance at him. Was he conscious that he was overruling her objections? She saw no sign of it. He looked up at her questioningly, waiting for her answer.
"I don't mind at all," she replied. She felt too timid to say what she would really like, too ashamed perhaps to say what she usually had for her lunch. The best course was to let him choose. "I'll have whatever you do," she said agreeably.
He gave the order, a meal for which she could never have afforded to pay. Then he turned back with a humorous smile to her.
"The objection, the difficulty's overcome, then," he said.
Sally allowed herself to smile, eyes in a swift moment raised to his.