Four o’clock, a quarter past, half past. She would not come. Of course she would not come; he had offended past all forgiveness in taking so long to reply to her appeal. Hugh Alston cursed the unlucky star that he must have been born under.
Two middle-aged women, seated at a small table, taking their tea after strenuous shopping at the sales, watched him and discussed him frankly.
“Evidently here to meet someone!”
“And she hasn’t come!”
“You can see how disappointed he looks, poor fellow.”
“Too bad of her!”
“My dear, what some men can see in some women...”
“And a girl who would keep a man like that waiting deserves to lose him.”
“I hope she does. See, he’s going now. I hope she comes later and is disappointed.”
“Oh no, I think that must be she. What a handsome girl, but how cold and proud looking!”