“You mean, I suppose, that you will decline to answer.”
Her colour rose. “You always correct my language, I know. My exact meaning is that I deny your right to question me about my own affairs.”
“But if they are my affairs, too? May I not know what you are doing with them?”
She thought. “Yes—I suppose you may do that.”
“Very well. Then I will ask you why you sent me word that you were to come here on the 13th ‘by train,’ and then did nothing of the sort?”
On her knees still, she faced him with her answer. “Yes, I will answer that. When I wrote, I intended to come—and expected that you would meet me. But when I posted the letter I had changed my mind. I did not intend to come.”
He stared, with very cold, bright eyes. “You did not intend to come when you posted the letter? Pray, did you intend me to expect you at the station?”
She answered him, “Yes, I did expect it.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Really, my dear friend, you interest me extremely. Did you think that six hours or more at Charing Cross Station would be good for my nerves, morals, or constitution?”
“I will tell you what I thought,” she said. “I thought that waiting at Charing Cross would be no worse—to say the least—for a man than an appointment in Burlington Arcade could be for a woman.”