Without going so far as to offer contradiction, Bill seemed a little inclined to doubt it.
Howbeit that was neither here nor there. And their walk was most enjoyable. Bill was kept in a ripple of amusement. This little Miss Du Rance was the livest thing out. As for her ply of questions it was so unexpected that it never became tiresome. Perhaps it was because she was so nailingly pretty. Those serious grey eyes were as good as anything he had seen in a month of Sundays.
When they got to the Tube in Piccadilly Circus said Miss Du Rance, in whose voice was regret: “I must leave you now. You can go back to your snooker. But I am just awfully pleased and proud to have met you.” She held forth a neat white glove. “I do hope we shall meet again.”
Bill said, as he grasped the white glove fervently: “We must—if you do think so.”
“I don’t say what I don’t think.” The sternness of Miss Du Rance was perfectly killing.
Bill, who was still enjoying every moment of her, ventured to hope that she didn’t. And as an earnest of that he went on to ask, tentatively, whether she cared for dancing.
“I’ll say yes.”
“That’s splendid! We must get Vi to arrange a party one afternoon for the Orient Dance Club.”
“When?”
Bill was hardly prepared to be picked up in that way. Such businesslike promptitude was a threat to his gravity. “One day next week if it can be managed and it’ll be convenient to you.”