"Where's that?" she asked.
"Do you not know either? You're the second person I've met in London didn't know that. It's in County Down. My mother lives there, and so does my Uncle William. I've come here to write books!..."
"Are you an author?" she exclaimed with interest.
"I am," he said proudly. "I've written a novel and I'm writing a play!... Come down and I'll tell you about them!"
"Oh, no, I can't. It's too late. And you must go home. Where do you live?"
"At Brixton," he answered.
"That's miles from here. And you'll miss the last bus if you don't hurry!..."
"I can walk. Come down, will you!"
"No. No, no. It's much too late," she said hurriedly. "And I can't stay here talking to you any longer. Someone will make a complaint about me. You'll get me into trouble!..."
"Well, will you meet me to-morrow somewhere? Wherever you like!"