"I don't know whether it's wise or not. I know I can't go on like this for ever."
"Yes, but would anything else be better, or even half as good? You didn't get much fun out of that last place, you know."
"Well, for all the fun I get out of that old Bank, I might as well be in a ladies' boarding school. If I thought it would end in anything—but it won't."
"How do you know? It may end in your marrying a big fat manager."
"Don't be silly."
"Supposing you knew it would end some day, not necessarily in marrying the manager, would you mind going on with it?"
She looked away from him, and tears formed under her eyelashes, the vague light tears that never fall. "There's no use my talking of flinging it up. I'm fixed there for good."
"Who knows?" said Rickman; and if Flossie's eyes had been candid they would have said, "You ought to know, if anybody does." Whatever they said, it made him shudder, with fear, with shame, but no, not with hatred. "Poor Flossie," he said gently; and there was a pause during which Flossie looked more demure than ever after her little outburst. She had seen the look in his eyes that foreboded flight.
He rose abruptly. "Do you know, I'm awfully sorry, but I've got an appointment at half past five to meet a fellow in Fleet Street."
The fellow was Maddox, but the appointment, he had made it that very minute, which was the twenty-fifth minute past five.