“Lucilla, why are you avoiding me?”
She opened wide eyes. “Avoiding you, my dear Martin?”
“Yesterday you gave me no opportunity of speaking to you, and this morning it has been the same. And I’ve been in a fever of longing for a word with you.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “And now you have me, what is the word?”
“I love you,” said Martin.
“Hush,” she whispered, with an involuntary glance round at the red-jerseyed porters and the stray passengers. “This is scarcely the place for a declaration.”
“The declaration was the night before last.”
“Hush!” she said again, and laid her gloved hand on his arm. But he insisted.
“You haven’t forgotten?”
“Not yet. How could I? You must give me time.”