‘Midnight!—The House up!—Impossible!’
But it was more than possible, it was fact. We had actually been on the Bridge two hours, and it had not seemed ten minutes. Never had I supposed that the flight of time could have been so entirely unnoticed. Paul was considerably taken aback. His legislative conscience pricked him. He excused himself—in his own fashion.
‘Fortunately, for once in a way, my business in the House was not so important as my business out of it.’
He had his arm through mine. We were standing face to face.
‘So you call this business!’
He laughed.
He not only saw me into a cab, but he saw me home in it. And in the cab he kissed me. I fancy I was a little out of sorts that night. My nervous system was, perhaps, demoralised. Because, when he kissed me, I did a thing which I never do,—I have my own standard of behaviour, and that sort of thing is quite outside of it; I behaved like a sentimental chit. I cried. And it took him all the way to my father’s door to comfort me.
I can only hope that, perceiving the singularity of the occasion, he consented to excuse me.
CHAPTER XXIV.
A WOMAN’S VIEW
Sydney Atherton has asked me to be his wife. It is not only annoying; worse, it is absurd.