“You can please yourself.”
She went on, and he with a sinking heart made his way home to breakfast. He hated her. He knew he was a fool to bother about her; she was not the sort of woman who would ever care two straws for him, and she must look upon his deformity with distaste. He made up his mind that he would not go in to tea that afternoon, but, hating himself, he went. She nodded to him as he came in and smiled.
“I expect I was rather short with you this morning,” she said. “You see, I didn’t expect you, and it came like a surprise.”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter at all.”
He felt that a great weight had suddenly been lifted from him. He was infinitely grateful for one word of kindness.
“Why don’t you sit down?” he asked. “Nobody’s wanting you just now.”
“I don’t mind if I do.”
He looked at her, but could think of nothing to say; he racked his brains anxiously, seeking for a remark which should keep her by him; he wanted to tell her how much she meant to him; but he did not know how to make love now that he loved in earnest.
“Where’s your friend with the fair moustache? I haven’t seen him lately.”
“Oh, he’s gone back to Birmingham. He’s in business there. He only comes up to London every now and again.”