“Ask her in—” He paused. “Is two months too long? Remember, I held her mine once. I can’t set that on one side. You promise? Not a word till two months have passed?”
“You have my promise,” said Wareham quickly, the more quickly for shame at the murmurings of a greedy heart.
“When you’ve got her—you won’t mind having waited. I’ve said my say, Dick. Yesterday—”
“Yes?”
“I asked her to kiss me, and—she did.” His voice grew stronger, and he smiled feebly. “That other lean-souled woman wanted to come, but I wouldn’t have her.”
“Mrs Martyn?”
“Yes. She’s curious. Say nothing to her, Dick.”
“Nothing. Old boy, you’ve talked enough.”
“Well—” Hugh acknowledged.
A silent pressure, and Wareham went. He wanted to be by himself, and though there were only half-a-dozen people he knew in Bergen, the place seemed full of them; there was not a corner round which they might not appear. He might have walked off out of the town, and been safe, but he would not leave the house for more than half-an-hour. For that time the museum struck him as a safe refuge, and he made for it.