“Pardon me! I cannot consent to that.”
“What?” persisted the young man. “Why not?”
“It is not my custom to encourage chance acquaintances,” replied she. “If you insist upon getting in, I shall get out.”
“But look here!” protested the young man. “I—”
She was already struggling with the handle of the door.
“Very well!” he said curtly. “I’ll go!”
As he turned, he saw the driver coming out of the shop, holding a handkerchief to his eye.
“This lady wants to go to No. 93 Sloan Street,” said he. “Oh, never mind me!”
And he set off on foot up the hilly street, in the pelting rain. The portly, white-haired lady watched him go.
“I cannot,” she said, half aloud, “encourage chance acquaintances—especially on Lynn’s account.”