“You’re sure about dinner?”
“Yes.”
He wanted to shake hands, but her attitude did not seem to permit it. He made a last attempt.
“Say, if I annoy you with my pounding—just rap on the wall and shut me up.”
“I like it.”
“Really—anything in particular?”
“No; I like it all.”
“I’m glad of that.” He hesitated again, moved toward the door. “I’m sorry about that dinner.”
She nodded, and he thought she was still watching him with her disconcerting amusement.
“Good luck!”