She had not seen Mr. Parfit since the loss of her secretaryship, in fact, not since Christmas, the morning walks to Highbury Corner having become unnecessary. On the afternoon of the second Saturday in January, Eve happened to be standing at her window, dressed to go out, when she saw him strolling along the path on the other side of the road. He glanced at her window as he passed, and, turning when he had gone some thirty yards, came slowly back again.
A sudden hunger for companionship seized her, a desire to listen to a friendly voice, and to feel that she was not utterly alone. She hurried out, drawing on her gloves, and found “the Bourgeois of Clarendon Grove” on the point of repassing her doorway.
He raised his hat, beamed, and came across.
“Why, here you are! I hope you haven’t been ill?”
“No.”
“I began to get quite worried.”
It gave her pleasure to find that someone had troubled to wonder what had happened.
“I have given up my post, and so I have no reason for starting out early.”
His round eyes studied her attentively.
“Oh, that’s it!”