With swift movement he took a cigar from one pocket, a match-case from another. "May I smoke?" he asked, irritably, and as I nodded he struck a match and held it to the cigar in his mouth, then threw it in the fire. Presently he looked at me.
"Why didn't you tell me you were coming here—for a while?"
"It would have meant more argument. You would not have approved."
"I most assuredly would not. But that would have made no difference.
My disapproval would not have prevented."
"No. I should have come, of course. But I was tired, and useless discussion does no good. We would have said again the same old things we've said so often, and I didn't want to say them or hear them. One of the reasons why I came down here was to talk with people who weren't born with made-up minds, and who don't have high walls around their homes."
"There are times when I would like to put them around you! If you were mine I'd do it."
"No, you wouldn't. You know perfectly well what I would do with walls. That is the kind you think should be around a woman. But we won't get on that, either. Were you ever in Scarborough Square before?"
Selwyn nodded and looked, not at me, but at the spirals of smoke from his cigar. "My grandfather used to live on the opposite side of the Square, and as a kid I was brought occasionally to see him. I barely remember him. He died thirty years ago."
"It's difficult to imagine this was once the fashionable part of the city, and that gorgeous parties and balls—" I sat upright and laughed. "I went to a party last night. It was a wonderful party."
"You did what?"