It seemed to me that he became evasive. "Oh—just little dodges——"
"Like watching slowed-down pictures?"
He became still more evasive. "If I hadn't spoken to you to-night you'd never have seen me, you know," he reproached me.
"I've been looking for you though. And I did see you once."
"Where was that?" he asked quickly.
"In a hansom, in Piccadilly Circus."
He winced. "Don't, George," he begged me.
"And you weren't alone."
"George—I say, George—you see how I'm trying to keep steady. Must you throw me all over the shop again like this?"
But somehow I was no longer afraid of him. It seemed to me that it might be no ill thing to anger him. Anger was at least a more human feeling than those hideous speculations of his.