She had an absurd feeling of curiosity about his first words to her. In her ideal dialogue with him he struck an attitude of surprise and bewilderment and ejaculated, after the manner of the hero in a melodrama: “What?—You!—You! Is it really you?”
Of course he did nothing like that. She might have expected her fancied conversation to go all wrong from the start. He slowly and cautiously held out his right hand, and smiled a careful, quizzical smile.
And his first words were: “How are you?”
“Very well,” she replied mechanically.
There was a pause, after which he said: “Won’t you sit down?”
“Thank you,” she replied, and occupied the other armchair. He still remained standing and smoking.
“I suppose,” he said reflectively, “you got the address from the Directory?”
“No,” she replied nonchalantly, “it was quite by accident. I am one of the assistants in the music department of Ryder and Sons, and you yourself gave me your address over the telephone last Monday.”
“What a startling coincidence!” he muttered, as if by way of comment to himself.
Pause....