"Oh?" A noncommittal noise, not openly skeptical.
"I can tell you something you may feel better for."
"What?" Caution, now, not of him but of the thing he might say.
"The phone is hardly suitable. Could we get together in person?"
"Well—" It stretched into seconds, which he found unnaturally long. Then, clearly, almost gaily: "Of course. Whenever you like."
"This evening? You're at your parents' home still, aren't you?"
"I'm going back to my own place today. But this evening will be fine."
He said with careful dryness: "Bearing in mind that I am a somewhat respectable assistant professor of history and more than a decade your senior, may I suggest dinner?"
She did actually chuckle that time. "Thank you, you may. No references needed; Bruce told me enough about you. And it's a good deal better than sitting alone brooding, isn't it?"
He had gotten the address and a six-thirty date before he wholly realized what was going on. When the phone was back in its cradle, he sat for some indefinite time. Oh, no! he thought at last. Impossible. I'm too old to be romantic and too young to be tired.