“No, thank you!”
This jolted an “Oh!” out of him. Then he came back with:
“When am I going to get a chance to talk to you?”
“You know my address.”
“Yes, but––” He thought of that horrible evening when he had marched through the double row of staring cottages. But he was determined. “Going to be home this evening?”
“By some strange accident––yes.”
“By some strange accident, I might drop round.”
“Do.”
They laughed idiotically, and she turned and glided out.
She went to the mess-hall and moved about, selecting her dishes. Pretending not to see that Miss Gabus was pretending not to see her, she took her collation to another table and ate with the relish of a sense of secret guilt––the guilt of a young woman secretly betrothed.