"No," said Kipps, "that's jest it—I hardly know." He also said that he wanted to look around a bit before doing anything. "There's so much to consider," said Coote, smoothing the back of his head.
"I may go back to New Romney for a bit," said Kipps. "I got an Uncle and Aunt there. I reely don't know."
Helen regarded him thoughtfully for a moment.
"You must come and see us," she said, "before we go to Bruges."
"Oo, rather!" said Kipps. "If I may."
"Yes, do," she said, and suddenly stood up before Kipps could formulate an enquiry when he should call.
"You're sure you can spare that drawing board?" she said to Miss Coote, and the conversation passed out of range.
And when he had said "Good-bye" to Miss Walshingham and she had repeated her invitation to call, he went upstairs again with Coote to look out certain initiatory books they had had under discussion. And then Kipps, blowing very resolutely, went back to his own place, bearing in his arm (1) Sesame and Lilies, (2) Sir George Tressady, (3) an anonymous book on "Vitality" that Coote particularly esteemed. And, having got to his own sitting-room, he opened Sesame and Lilies and read it with ruthless determination for some time.
§3
Presently he leant back and gave himself up to the business of trying to imagine just exactly what Miss Walshingham could have thought of him when she saw him. Doubts about the precise effect of the grey flannel suit began to trouble him. He turned to the mirror over the mantel, and then got into a chair to study the hang of the trousers. It looked all right. Luckily, she had not seen the Panama hat. He knew that he had the brim turned up wrong, but he could not find out which way the brim was right. However, that she had not seen. He might perhaps ask at the shop where he bought it.