“It’s quite early.”
“Yes, for you. But for me—Kennington and high tea; but you know neither of them.”
“You’ve asked me to come——”
“Not to high tea. Come some afternoon or evening. Drop me a post card so that we shall be sure to be in. My husband will be so glad to see you again.”
“And you?”
“I have seen you again.”
“Very well, I’ll drop you a line of warning. And how are you going home?”
“By a clever and cheap combination of penny bus and halfpenny tram. Now, good-by, and thank you.”
They lingered a moment in the shop entrance, warmth and coziness behind, the darkness and the thickening fog before.
“I don’t like you’re going alone. The fog’s getting very thick.”