“I’ll tell you afterwards.”
She shook her head.
“Perhaps you are going to Downing Street even now, to plan a crushing blow to the Cause.”
“I am going to Downing Street, but it has nothing to do with the Cause, as you call it.”
It was her turn to glance round, but she only saw that he was clean-shaven, and somewhat lined. His grey, quizzical eyes met hers full of humour.
“I wonder who we both are?” he said.
“I can easily tell you who I am, as I’m so comfortably of no account. My name is Harriet Pritchard, and my friends call me Hal. I live with Brother Dudley, who is an architect; and if the world isn’t any the better for me, I hope it is sometimes a little gayer, that’s all.”
“And are you engaged to the young man whose steering gear went wrong?”
“No; I am not engaged to any one at all.”
“Very nearly perhaps?”