“Most certainly I was.”
“What nonsense! And did you really suppose I should submit without making an effort to see you, and persuade you to be friends again?”
Hal tilted her nose up a little, and glanced away as she replied a trifle scathingly:
“I supposed, having found I was not the sort of girl you imagined, and not one you could take liberties with, that possibly our friendship would cease to interest you.”
He coloured slightly.
“You hit hard, but I suppose I have deserved it. I shall now have to prove to you that I’ve turned over a new leaf, and deserve it no longer.”
They stopped before the Carlton as he spoke, and he led the way into the lounge, and to a side table.
“I’m sure you’ll trust me this far,” he said; “people stare so when one is in the middle of the room.”
Hal sat down and drew off her gloves, feeling, in spite of herself, unmistakably happy. It was good to be there, instead of trudging home to Bloomsbury; and it was specially good to be chatting to him again.
A dear friend may be always a dear friend, and yet not just the one one wants at the moment. When things are difficult, and irritating, and disappointing, the pleasantest companion is apt to be one with so much individual regard for us at the time that we can hold forth upon our troubles without any fear of boring our listener.