‘But wasn’t it all decided between us? Didn’t you repeat it in your letter?’
‘Yes—I know—but I didn’t think it would come so soon.’
‘We won’t talk about it to-night,’ said Tarrant firmly. ‘For one thing, there’s no time. Come closer to the fire, and get warm through; then I must see you home.’
Nancy hung her head. When, in a few moments, she looked up again, it was to say drily:
‘There’s no need for you to see me home.’
‘I’m going to, at all events.’
‘Why? You don’t care much about me. I might as well be run over—or anything—’
To this remark no sort of answer was vouchsafed. Nancy sat with her feet on the fender, and Tarrant kept up a great blaze with chips, which sputtered out their moisture before they began to crackle. He and she both seemed intent on this process of combustion.
‘Now you’re quite warm,’ said the young man, as if speaking to a child, ‘and it’s time to go.’
Nancy rose obediently, gazed at him with dreaming eyes, and suffered herself to be led away by the arm. In Chancery Lane, Tarrant hailed a crawling hansom. When they were driving rapidly southward, Nancy began to question him about the date of his departure; she learnt that he might be gone in less than a week.