"I was going to ask you," he went on, "whether you would do me the honour of coming to the theatre one evening? If you have a mind that turns that way sometimes."
"No, thank you," answered Joan once more. "I never go to theatres, and I shouldn't go with you in any case," she added desperately, as a final resource.
"I meant no offence," the man answered, humble as ever. "I should always act straight by a girl, and for you——"
"Oh, don't, please don't," Joan interrupted. She stopped in her walk and faced round on him. "Can't you see how impossible it would be for me——" she broke off abruptly, rather ashamed of her outburst. "I am going to be a snob in a minute, if I am not careful," she finished to herself.
"I know I am not amusing, or anything," the man went on; "but you have always seemed so kind and considerate. If I have offended in any way, I am more than sorry."
Joan felt that he was frowning as he always frowned in hopeless perplexity over his shorthand.
"I am not offended," she tried to explain more gently. "Only, please do not ask me to go out with you again, or offer to walk home with me. Here we are anyway, this is where I live." She turned at the bottom of Shamrock House steps and held out her hand to him. "Good-night," she said.
Simpson did not take her hand, instead he stared up at her; she could see how shiny and red his face was under the lamp.
"You are not angry with me?" he stuttered.
"Why, no, of course not," Joan prevaricated. Then she ran up the steps and let herself into the hall without looking back at him.