“Are you suggesting I invited you to meet me here?” she responded, willfully misinterpreting him. She shook her read regretfully. “You must have misunderstood me. I should never have imposed such a strain on your politeness.”
His eyes glinted.
“Do you know,” he said quietly, “that I should very much like to shake you?”
“I'm glad,” she answered heartily. “It's a devastating feeling! You made me feel just the same the day I travelled with you. So now we're quits.”
“Won't you—please—try to forget that day in the train?” he said quickly. “I behaved like a bore. I'm afraid I've no real excuse to offer, except that I'd been reminded of something that happened long ago—and I wanted to be alone.”
“To enjoy the memory in solitude?” hazarded Sara flippantly. She was still nervous and talking rather at random, scarcely heeding what she said.
A look of bitter irony crossed his face.
“Hardly that,” he said shortly, and Sara knew that somehow she had again inadvertently laid her hand upon an old hurt. She spoke with a sudden change of voice.
“Then, as the train doesn't hold pleasant memories for either of us, let's forget it,” she suggested gently.
“Do you know what that implies?” he asked. “It implies that you are willing to be friends. Do you mean that?”—incisively.