"You mean 'hours,'" she said. "We dined last night at eight o'clock—it's just four now."
"You don't believe me—you think I'm making the most of a happy accident? What if I gave you a conclusive, an overwhelming proof?"
"A proof of what?"
"Of what? That I am constancy itself! Supposing I told you that my only reason for coming here was to see you again. What would you say to that?"
"I hope I should answer quite politely," she murmured.
"Ah, you didn't doubt me once!" he exclaimed with grave reproach.
"You didn't tell such tarra-diddles once," she urged.
"I came here simply and solely to see you. Look at me. Will you give me your hand?—I want to repeat it solemnly." She glanced at the door, and yielded him her hand. It was very soft and agreeable to hold; he continued with no undue haste: "Now, holding your hand, and with my eyes meeting yours, I say that I came here to see you—for no one, and nothing else—that I had no idea of coming to the place till I knew you were here. That isn't all!" he detained her hand gently. "For an age I have been trying to see you. I knew none of your friends—it was awfully difficult for me. Could I call upon you and begin 'Once upon a time?' Should I write to you? You might read my note in the wrong mood. Oh, I tell you I racked my brains! That isn't all!"—her hand had been retreating again. "The day before yesterday as I passed your house—No. 62; you have window boxes, the flowers are calceolarias and marguerites this season—the day before yesterday as I passed, I saw the shutters were closed. I rang the bell. I deceived your servant, I led him to imagine you—you would be glad to welcome me. I wormed your address from him and threw myself onto the boat rejoicing. That isn't all——"
She drew the hand free, nevertheless, and realising that it wasn't coming back to him yet, he concluded, "But it is enough to show you that you've been cruel."
At this moment they were interrupted, and she said, "Oh, let me—Mr. Warrener, my sister, Lady Bletchworth."