Absorbed in the trivial act that engaged him, he gave her no help. “A train?”
“Surely. I didn’t walk.”
“No; but even trains——!” His eyes clung to her now. “You fly?”
“I try to. Good-bye.”
He had got between her and the door of departure quite as, on her attempt to quit him half an hour before, he had anticipated her approach to the stairs; and in this position he took no notice of her farewell. “I said just now that I had nothing to offer you. But of course I’ve the house itself.”
“The house?” She stared. “Why, I’ve got it?”
“Got it?”
“All in my head, I mean. That’s all I want.” She had not yet, save to Mr. Prodmore, made quite so light of it.
This had its action in his markedly longer face. “Why, I thought you loved it so!”
Ah, she was perfectly consistent. “I love it far too much to deprive you of it.”