“So was I. Well, there you are. It would be silly if you sat here and ate—what are yours, by the way?”
“Only mutton, I’m afraid.”
“Ah, mine are beef. Well, if you sat here and ate mutton sandwiches and I sat a hundred yards farther on and ate beef ones, we should look ridiculous, shouldn’t we?”
“It would be rather silly,” she smiled.
So they sat down and had their sandwiches together.
“My name is Carfax,” he said, “Geoffrey Carfax.” Oh, George! And to a woman! However, she wouldn’t tell him hers.
They spent an hour over lunch. They wandered together for another hour. Need I tell you all the things they said? But they didn’t talk of London.
“Oh, I must be going,” she said suddenly. “I didn’t know it was so late. No, I know my way. Don’t come with me. Good-bye.”
“It can’t be good-bye,” said George in dismay. “I’ve only just found you. Where do you live? Who are you?”
“Don’t let’s spoil it,” she smiled. “It’s been a wonderful day—a wonderful little piece of a day. We’ll always remember it. I don’t think it’s meant to go on; it stops just here.”