“I wouldn’t do it to anyone else,” she said, by way of apology. “But I know I can with you.”
“You couldn’t give me greater pleasure,” he smiled.
She asked him to give her something to eat one evening towards the end of April.
“All right,” he said. “Where would you like to go afterwards?”
“Oh, don’t let’s go anywhere. Let’s just sit and talk. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Rather not.”
He thought she must be beginning to care for him. Three months before the thought of an evening spent in conversation would have bored her to death. It was a fine day, and the spring added to Philip’s high spirits. He was content with very little now.
“I say, won’t it be ripping when the summer comes along,” he said, as they drove along on the top of a ’bus to Soho—she had herself suggested that they should not be so extravagant as to go by cab. “We shall be able to spend every Sunday on the river. We’ll take our luncheon in a basket.”
She smiled slightly, and he was encouraged to take her hand. She did not withdraw it.
“I really think you’re beginning to like me a bit,” he smiled.