He rose, and by sheer force of urgency made her rise likewise. He got her as far as the door. "But" she began, hesitating there.
"Steady as ye go," bade Goodwin, and took her down the shallow steps to the sidewalk. "Now, which way is it to be?" he demanded suddenly.
She did not reply for a couple of moments. The light that issued from the hall showed her face as she stood and considered him doubtfully, a little uncertain of what was happening. Even in that half-obscurity of the long street, where she was seen as an attitude, a shape, she made her effect of a quiet, tender beauty. Then, at last, she smiled and turned and began to walk. Goodwin fell into step beside her, and the confusion of voices within the hall died down behind them.
"I had to make you come," said Goodwin presently. "I just had to. An' you don't want to be scared."
She glanced sideways at him, but said nothing.
"You ain't scared, are ye?" he asked.
"No," she replied.
The answer even the brevity of it fulfilled his understanding of her.
He nodded to himself.
"I said I wanted to talk to ye," he went on; "an' I do. I want to talk to you a whole lot. But there ain't much I got to say. 'Ceptin', maybe, one thing. I'd like to know what your first name is. Oh, I ain't goin' to get fresh an' call you by it I reckon you know that. But thinkin' of you all day an' half the night, like I do, 'Miss James' don't come handy, ye see."
"Oh!" murmured the girl. It was plain that he had startled her a little.