She laughed, ever so little scornfully.
“A sweep is not afraid of blacking his fingers when he handles coal. I am past such conventionalities.”
“You are mistaken. Quite the contrary.”
“I am not mistaken, Hugh,” she replied with quiet firmness. “Please let me have my own way in this.”
He bowed in assent, and they walked on together.
“A private sitting-room?”
“That would be more comfortable.”
There was a long silence on their way to the hotel. The reference to the subject of their interview was a touch of ice. Presently he asked:
“How did you guess that I should come to Victoria instead of Charing Cross?”
“You wired ‘arrive 7.10’ I looked in a Bradshaw. The Charing Cross train is timed to get in five minutes later. Men haven’t all the sense, you know.”