“I wish—” he said, and paused. “I wish I could see you again.”
There was a sort of self-assurance about him that somehow inspired her with confidence in him. It had not the least trace of effrontery, nor was there anything ingratiating about him. His air seemed to tell her that, if she didn’t want to see him, she need only say so, and that would be the end of it. He was quiet, courteous, but far from humble. He was, in fact, rather lordly. And she liked it.
“Well...” she began. “I—I’d like to—pay you back that fare....”
“Perhaps you’d let me call?”
He was startled at her vehemence.
“Oh, no!” she cried. “Oh, no! You couldn’t! I’m sorry—but you couldn’t!”
Her face had grown crimson and her eyes were filled with tears, and she kept her head resolutely turned aside.
This surprised, embarrassed and a little annoyed him. Did she think he was trying to force himself upon her? He said nothing more after that.
But at last, as they drew near his corner, he spoke again.
“Well!” he said, rising, with a slight sigh. “I’m sorry!”