This was terribly true.
"And you did give me the glad eye, you know."
"I didn't mean to." She had found her voice at last. "I—I thought you were someone else; at least I—"
"Are you expecting a friend?"
"Oh, no—no one. It was a mistake."
"Then mayn't I stay and talk to you—just for a bit. I'm here all alone, you know—a fortnight's holiday. I don't know anyone."
By this time he had dragged all her features out of the darkness, and saw that she was not quite what he had first taken her for. He had never thought she was a girl—his taste was for maturity—but he had not imagined her of the obviously well-to-do and respectable class to which she evidently belonged. He saw now that her clothes were of a fashionable cut, that she had about her a generally expensive air, and at the same time he knew enough to tell that she was not what he called a lady. He found her rather difficult to place. Perhaps she was a wealthy milliner on a holiday ... but, her accent—you could lean up against it ... well, anyhow she was a damn fine woman.
"What do you think of the band?" he asked, subtly altering the tone of the conversation which he saw now had been pitched too low.
"I think it a proper fine band."
"So it is. They're going to play 'The Merry Widow' next—ever seen it?"