“That of course! You knew that!—But how ill you look!”
“It is from not seeing you any more at the concerts,” answered Richard.
“Tell me your address, and I will write to you. But do not write to me. When shall you be at the hall again?”
“Next Monday. I am there every Monday.”
“I shall be there, and will take your answer from your hand in the crush as I come out by the Regent-street door.”
She pulled the coachman's string.
“Now you must go,” she said. “Thank God I have seen you! Tell me when you write if you know anything of Alice.”
She gave him her hand. He got out, closed the door, took off his hat, and stood for minutes uncovered in the cold clear night, hardly sure whether he had indeed been side by side with Barbara, or in a heavenly trance.