“Rather!”
Pause.
“Nasty weather we’re having.”
“Yes—for April.”
Pause again. At Liverpool Street they were the first to leave the compartment.
“You’ll excuse my rushing off,” she said, “but I must be quick. The shop closes at one on a Saturday.”
“Certainly,” he murmured. Then he offered his hand. She took it and said “Good-bye” charmingly. A minute later and she was leaning up against the wall of the tube subway in a state bordering upon physical exhaustion. The interview had been so unlike anything she had in her wildest dreams anticipated. Its casualness, its sheer uneventfulness almost took away her breath. She had pictured him pleading, expostulating, remonstrating, blustering, perhaps making a scene. She had been prepared for agonized entreaties, tearful supplications. Instead of which he had said: “Nasty weather we’re having.”
And she had replied: “Yes—for April.”
As for the ideal dialogue——