“Yes, whatever it was, I don’t think she saw that.”
“So she just nailed him?”
“She just nailed him.” The departing friend was now at the bottom of the little flight of steps; the other was at the top, with a certain thickness of fog. “And when am I to think of you in your little home?—next month?” asked the voice from the top.
“At the very latest. And when am I to think of you in yours?”
“Oh even sooner. I feel, after so much talk with you about it, as if I were already there!” Then “Good-bye!” came out of the fog.
“Good-bye!” went into it. Our young lady went into it also, in the opposed quarter, and presently, after a few sightless turns, came out on the Paddington canal. Distinguishing vaguely what the low parapet enclosed she stopped close to it and stood a while very intently, but perhaps still sightlessly, looking down on it. A policeman; while she remained, strolled past her; then, going his way a little further and half lost in the atmosphere, paused and watched her. But she was quite unaware—she was full of her thoughts. They were too numerous to find a place just here, but two of the number may at least be mentioned. One of these was that, decidedly, her little home must be not for next month, but for next week; the other, which came indeed as she resumed her walk and went her way, was that it was strange such a matter should be at last settled for her by Mr. Drake