“Some people,” replied Miss Sellars, with a giggle, “says it fits me; but, of course, that's only their nonsense.”
Not knowing what to reply, I remained silent, which appeared to somewhat disappoint Miss Sellars.
Out of the Clapham Road we turned into a by-street of two-storeyed houses.
“You'll come in and have a bit of supper?” suggested Miss Sellars. “Mar's quite hanxious to see you.”
I found sufficient courage to say I was not feeling well, and would much rather return home.
“Oh, but you must just come in for five minutes, dear. It'll look so funny if you don't. I told 'em we was coming.”
“I would really rather not,” I urged; “some other evening.” I felt a presentiment, I confided to her, that on this particular evening I should not shine to advantage.
“Oh, you mustn't be so shy,” said Miss Sellars. “I don't like shy fellows—not too shy. That's silly.” And Miss Sellars took my arm with a decided grip, making it clear to me that escape could be obtained only by an unseemly struggle in the street; not being prepared for which, I meekly yielded.
We knocked at the door of one of the small houses, Miss Sellars retaining her hold upon me until it had been opened to us by a lank young man in his shirt-sleeves and closed behind us.
“Don't gentlemen wear coats of a hevening nowadays?” asked Miss Sellars, tartly, of the lank young man. “New fashion just come in?”