"I don't care where you walk with me," Julia replied vigorously, "if it isn't into Marie's flat."
She set a brisk pace down the opposite side of the road, as if assuming that Osborn might pass them unnoticing on the other, and Rokeby kept step unprotestingly. "It must be after six o'clock," he said presently.
"It is," she replied.
"Which is your way home?"
Julia described her route with a brevity characteristic of her.
He slackened pace, so that she looked round at him, impatiently questioning.
"Look here, Miss Winter," he coaxed, "don't go home. Stay out and dine with me. Of course we're mere strangers, but we're both so emancipated, aren't we? No, emancipated's an out-of-date word. We've passed that, haven't we, long ago? We're—I dunno what we are; there's no limit to us. Isn't it jolly? So do come into town and dine with me."
"I think I'd like to, thanks," said Julia; "I'm not quite sure."
"Why aren't you quite sure?"
"I might be bored with you. How do I know?"