Rue thanked him, opened her reticule, and placed the folded paper there beside her purse.
“I do hope I shall see you soon again,” he said, looking gaily, almost mischievously into her grey eyes. “This certainly resembles fate. Don’t you think so, Rue—this reunion of ours?”
“Fate?” she repeated.
“Yes. I should even call it romantic. Don’t you think our meeting this way resembles something very much like romance?”
She felt herself flushing, tried to smile:
“It couldn’t resemble anything,” she explained with quaint honesty, “because I am sailing for Europe tomorrow morning; I am going on board in less than an hour. And also—also, I––”
“Also?”—he prompted her, amused, yet oddly touched by her childishly literal reply.
“I am—married.”
“Good Lord!” he said.
“This morning,” she added, tasting her ice.