"But—"
He checked that. He could not guess what had been passing through her mind, yet the note in her voice on that one word was discouraging.
"You are going to come to dinner with me one evening."
She was full of indecision. He gave her no time to think. It was not his intention to do so.
"But how can I?" she began.
"By coming dressed—just as you are. No need to go home and change. I'll be ready to meet you outside the office at six o'clock. You don't get out till a quarter past? Then a quarter past. We go to dinner—we go to a theatre; music-hall if you like—then I drive you down to Waterloo, put you in the last train to Kew Bridge—and that is all."
She laughed in spite of herself.
"I'll write to Strand-on-Green, and let you know what evening. Miss Bishop—what initial?"
"S."
"What's S. for?"