“You are Miss Morrison, aren’t you?” he said. “Somehow you seem different.”
“You’re different from the Mr. Crosby I know.”
“Am I? How?”
“It’s dreadful to see you at the boarding-house.” She looked at him timidly. “You don’t mind my mentioning the boarding-house, do you?”
“Mind? Why should I?” (After all, he still had another week.)
“Well, you want to forget about it when you’re on your holiday.”
Fancy her knowing that.
“And are you on your holiday too?”
She gave a long deep sigh of content.
“Yes,” she said.