She was studying him now. "Yes."
It was strange, he thought, how much was already understood between them, how much had no need to be said.
"When can we meet?"
"I—that wouldn't be wise."
"When?" he demanded. "This afternoon? Tonight?"
"No, no." She licked her lips nervously. "I'm late. I have to go. Please—we're not of the same status. There's no use—we'd be seen."
His hand went out quickly to grip her arm, and she flinched sharply. His fingers held her, tight on the soft flesh under the coarse red fabric. "Don't you want to see me again?"
She glanced anxiously toward the doors of the building, as if afraid that an Inspector might be watching them. "That doesn't have anything to do with it. It—it's impossible." Then she seemed to wilt, her weight sagging against his supporting hand. "Yes," she said helplessly, "I do want to see you."
"What time? When are you free?"
She hesitated. "Four o'clock this afternoon. But—"