It was a relief to admit this, instead of pretending, like a good pal, that she was not tired and never could be tired.
“Can’t we have a cup of tea together?” he asked.
“I’m waiting for some one,” she told him.
“But can’t we have tea while you’re waiting?” said he. “The place will close in fifteen minutes or so, you know.”
A queer little anger arose in her. Barty would not like her to have tea with Mr. Terrill. He was more than an hour late already, but he would think nothing of that. He would explain casually that he had been too busy to get away, and he would expect her to understand. Well, it was her own fault—she had told him so many times that she did understand.
“All right!” she said to herself. “There’s no reason why I shouldn’t have tea with Mr. Terrill. It’ll do Barty good. Let him do a little of the understanding, for a change!”
But when the tea room had closed, and Barty had not come, she discovered that it was Mr. Terrill, after all, who exasperated her, because he was not Barty. It was her own Barty that she wanted, and no one else. The idea of Mr. Terrill presuming, even unconsciously, to take Barty’s place!
She was humiliated, too, that Terrill should have seen her here, waiting and waiting for some one who did not come. She was so tired, so dispirited!
Terrill was walking along the street beside her, in the direction of the subway, and he was asking her to go down to Long Beach in his car on Sunday.
“Sorry,” said Jacqueline curtly, “but I can’t. I have an engagement.”