“I felt that I had been wrong, that you didn’t wish me to speak to you.”
“Do you mean when I—that you suspected what I was?”
“Something said to me, ‘This is a lady. She does strange things, she is not like others, but she is a lady. Go away.’”
“And in the studio—”
“When you spoke I knew.”
She felt degraded. She could not explain. And she felt confused. She did not understand this man. His curious reticence that night, after his audacity, was inexplicable to her. What could he think of her? What must he think?
“I was going out that night to dine in a restaurant in Soho with some friends,” she said, trying to speak very naturally. “I wanted some fresh air, so I walked.”
“Why not? I beg you to forgive me for my rudeness. I feel very ashamed of it now. I have learnt in all these days to respect you very much.”
His voice sounded so earnest, so sincere, that she felt suddenly a sense of relief. After all, he had always treated her with respect. He had never been impertinent, or even really audacious, and yet he had always known that she had wanted to meet him, that she had meant to meet him! He had never taken advantage of that knowledge. If he were really what Dick Garstin said he was, surely he would have acted differently.
“Do you really respect me?” she said.