“Tired!” said Audrey. “I am only tired these days when I am not working.”
“You must not use yourself up. You are too valuable to the country.”
She was very grateful. After all, what else really mattered? In a little glow she accepted his invitation.
“Only coffee,” she said. “I have had dinner. Is there any place near?”
He piloted her through the crowd, now rapidly dispersing. Here and there some man, often in halting English, thanked her for what she had said. A woman, slightly the worse for drink, but with friendly, rather humorous eyes, put a hand on her arm.
“You're all right, m'dear,” she said. “You're the stuff. Give it to them. I wish to God I could talk. I'd tell 'em something.”
The clergyman drew her on hastily.
In a small Italian restaurant, almost deserted, they found a table, and the clergyman ordered eggs and coffee. He was a trifle uneasy. In the wagon Audrey's plain dark clothes had deceived him. But the single pearl on her finger was very valuable. He fell to apologizing for the place.
“I often come here,” he explained. “The food is good, if you like Italian cooking. And it is near my work. I—”
But Audrey was not listening. At a corner, far back, Natalie and Rodney were sitting, engrossed in each other. Natalie's back was carefully turned to the room, but there was no mistaking her. Audrey wanted madly to get away, but the coffee had come and the young clergyman was talking gentle platitudes in a rather sweet but monotonous voice. Then Rodney saw her, and bowed.