She entered. He spoke to her still standing on the pavement.
"You know you ought not to go there; it's not the sort of place to which you're accustomed."
"Then the sooner I become accustomed the better. Will you please get in?"
He got in; the cab started; as it has been written, they were alone in the cab together. Their conversation, especially at the beginning, was of a distinctly singular sort; as a matter of fact, she was enjoying herself immensely. It was many a day since she had even supposed it possible that she could enjoy herself so much.
"You don't seem to be particularly glad to see me."
"What right have I to be glad?"
"That's it--what right have you? That's a particularly sensible inquiry, which makes it the more awkward--for me--that I should be rather glad to see you. I imagine that these things are an affair of temperament."
"You are laughing at me."
"I don't know what else to do, since you certainly aren't laughing at me. You might be an owl for gravity. You sit screwed up there in your corner as if you were afraid you might be infected with something if you came within a quarter of a mile of me."
"Put it the other way. I don't wish to carry infection to you."