“But I don’t know, Mary,” he said, half trying to retreat, “Repton’s not a man to speak unless he chooses, and he’s like a stone wall against one unless he also chooses to hear.”
“Take him walking as I’m taking you,” said Mary.
It was Sunday, the 31st of May. The weather had begun to be large and open and warm. He thought there was something in what she said.
“Meet him as he comes out of his house to-morrow. Do you know when he comes out?”
“Yes,” said the Prime Minister a little shamefacedly, “I do. It’s always half-past nine.”
“Well,” said Mary, “I really don’t see what your trouble is.”
“It’s an absurd hour to catch a man, half-past nine—and I should have to get up God knows when—besides to-morrow’s a bad day,” said the Premier, pressing his lips together when he had spoken. “It’s a bad moment. It’s a big week for him. He’s got a dinner on that’s something to do with his dam companies to-morrow evening. I know that. And then Tuesday he’s got that big Van Diemens meeting in the City. And before the end of the week, I know he’s talking at the big Wycliffite Conference—I can’t remember the day though. Pottle told me about it.”
They had turned to go home, and Mary Smith for the first hundred yards or so was honestly wondering in her mind why men found so difficult what women find so easy.
“I’ve told you what to do,” she said. “Catch him by accident outside his house as he leaves after breakfast, then he’ll walk with you. Say you’re walking. Anything can be said when one’s walking.”
“Are you sure he’ll come with me?” asked the Prime Minister.