She smiled. ‘No, of course not,’ she said; and for a moment she forgot his misconceptions, and patted his arm reassuringly, because he looked so anxious. ‘You’re giving me a lovely treat. We’re going to enjoy our evening thoroughly,’ she said.
‘And what are you giving me?’ he said—how adorable of her to pat him; and yet, and yet—if she had been shy she wouldn’t have. ‘Aren’t you giving me the happiest evening of my whole life?’
‘Oh,’ she said, shaking her head, ‘we mustn’t talk on different levels. When I say something ordinary you mustn’t answer’—she laughed—‘with a shout. If you do, the conversation will be trying.’
‘But how can I help what you call shouting when I’m with you at last, after having starved, starved——’
‘Oh,’ she interrupted quickly, putting her hands up to her ears, ‘you wouldn’t like it, would you, if I went deaf?’
He must go slower. He knew he must. But how go slower? He must hold on to himself tightly. But how? How? And in another minute they would be shut up close and alone in one of those infernal taxis.... Perhaps they had better go by tube; yet that seemed a poor way of taking a woman out to dinner. No, he couldn’t possibly do that. Better risk the taxi, and practise self-control.
‘You know,’ she said when they were in it,—fortunately it was a very fast one and would soon get there—‘only a few days ago you used to sit at The Immortal Hour all quiet and good, and never say anything except intelligent things about Celts. Now you don’t mention Celts, and don’t seem a bit really intelligent. What has happened to you?’
‘You have,’ he said.
‘That can’t be true,’ she reasoned, ‘for I haven’t seen you for nearly a week.’
‘That’s why,’ he said. ‘But look here, I don’t want to say things that’ll make you stop your ears up again, and I certainly shall if we don’t talk about something quite—neutral.’