"That is hardly an impression," said Clara, pacifying her irresoluteness with this light talk.
"The utmost to be hoped for by men like me! I have your permission?—one minute—I will get my ticket."
"Do not," said Clara.
"Your man-servant entreats you!"
She signified a decided negative with the head, but her eyes were dreamy. She breathed deep: this thing done would cut the cord. Her sensation of languor swept over her.
De Craye took a stride. He was accosted by one of the railway-porters. Flitch's fly was in request for a gentleman. A portly old gentleman bothered about luggage appeared on the landing.
"The gentleman can have it," said De Craye, handing Flitch his money.
"Open the door." Clara said to Flitch.
He tugged at the handle with enthusiasm. The door was open: she stepped in.
"Then mount the box and I'll jump up beside you," De Craye called out, after the passion of regretful astonishment had melted from his features.