3
There was silence in the cab: the lady seemed to have no desire to speak; and Ivor, though he wanted to hear her voice again, suddenly found he had nothing to say at all—to this strange lady! It was like an occasion out of a book by a young romanticist, yet she was very real, this woman; he could feel her clean reality, and her voice had had that low and careless charm of a woman whose feet are on an Aubusson carpet and whose heart is not subject to sudden impulses. She was calm. Calm! A delicious state.... He wanted her to speak; and she suddenly did.
“Tell me,” the voice came with gentle interest, “are other men like you, or are you exceptional?”
“Well——” Ivor hesitated. “I’m afraid I have been rather impertinent....”
And he deprecated his presence just a little, towards the dark poise of her head.
“Yes, you have been impertinent, I suppose,” the voice said softly. “But I wasn’t thinking of that. I was wondering if it was usual with men to be gallant....”
“You see,” the voice explained, “I know very little about men. About young men.”
Then Ivor suddenly had an idea....
“I say,” he almost blurted, “I’m all right, you know. I mean—well, I don’t want anything. You mustn’t think that I have any—well, ulterior motive, because I haven’t. I just thought I’d speak to you.... It’s rather difficult to explain....”
“It seems to be,” the voice suddenly laughed at him. And the taxi stopped.