Hugo opened the door; and he smiled, in a sort of way.
“I thought I couldn’t, Shirley—but I find I can.”
“But you can’t, you simply can’t!” she cried. “Why, I came down to see you on the distinct understanding that you were going to propose to me for the sixth and last time and only then going away for ever! Hugo, you can’t do one without the other—it’s not fair!”
“Don’t worry, little Shirley. The day is yet young, and some one else is sure to propose to you in the course of it. You will observe, my dear, that I am being cynical, after the manner of all rejected young men.”
“But, Hugo, I want you to—for the sixth and last time, dear, just to see what I’ll say!” And she tempted him exceedingly with her sun-lit face.
“That’s just it, Shirley. I know what you’ll say. Good-bye.”
“Oh, oh!” cried Shirley. “How awful men are! And how d’you know what I’ll say, Hugo? You are a clever chap, aren’t you? Are you a psycho-analyst, Hugo? Can you tell what is passing in a woman’s mind by looking at her instep? And for heaven’s sake don’t go on standing in that doorway looking like a draught!”
“Sorry, Shirley.” And Hugo faded away round the angle of the door and was closing it behind him.
“Hugo, how dare you go like that!” And that was the most frantic cry of all; and Hugo’s face reappeared round the angle of the door, and it was a rather bewildered face.
“Well, damn it, my dear, I must go somehow!”