The little bookseller in dismay looked from one to the other, but held his peace. Clara reminded him that he had once remarked how life consisted in men and women pulling each other through.
'That's so,' he said. 'Most of 'em trample on the rest.'
'Well,' said Clara. 'We've done it. We have pulled each other through.'
'Out of the burning,' said Rodd, with a laugh.
'Indeed! Are you going to join her in the play-acting?'
'Not at all,' said Clara. 'I'm going to join him in the play-writing. I have been a star for one night only.... If we starve, I shall make you take me on as your assistant. You could pay me a salary now.'
'I cannot see a man wi' a jowl like that letting his young leddy starve,' chuckled the bookseller.
They bought each other as presents the following books: The Dramatic Works of J. M. Synge, The Love Letters of Abelard and Héloïse, The Marriage of Figaro, Tom Jones, and six volumes of The Works of Henrik Ibsen, which were going cheap. These they ordered to be sent to her rooms, and with the bookseller's blessing—so hearty that it was well worth having—on their happiness they set out to reproduce in every detail the day of their first excursion.
They went by Tube to Highgate, and walked to Hampstead across the Heath, but when they came to the inn with the swing-boats and roundabouts they found them deserted, and were annoyed. They wanted the story told over and over again in exact replica, not varying by a simple detail. As that was impossible they had tea at the inn, and he told her the full and true story how he met her in the bookshop in the Charing Cross Road. She listened like a happy child, and she asked,—
'Did he love her?'