“You simply haven’t stopped.”
“What?”
“I say”—she whispered it—“isn’t it lovely being down here—just we two?”
“Um.”
He crumbled a piece of bread, then swept the crumbs to the floor. He shot a quick glance at her, lowered his eyes, picked up the cigarette-end again, and drew with it upon his plate.
“I say—”
“Wish that waiter would do what he is told.”
Esme sighed and stole a shy glance at the clock.
“Isn’t it getting late?”
“Is it? I don’t know—I’m a late person. Ah, that’s better!”