“Yes, Miss Anson,” I said, halting in the path, “let us meet again. Remember that we have to-day commenced a friendship—a friendship which I trust will last always.”
But she slowly shook her head, as though the heavy sadness of her heart still possessed her.
“Friendship may exist between us, but frequent meetings are, I fear, impossible.”
“Why? You told me only a moment ago that you were your own mistress,” I observed.
“And so I am in most things,” she answered. “But as far as meeting you, we can only leave that to chance.”
“Why?”
“Please do not endeavour to force me to explanations,” she answered with firmness. “I merely tell you that frequent meetings with you are unlikely—that is all.”
We had walked on, and were nearing the gate leading out into the High Street, Kensington.
“In other words, then, you are not altogether pleased with my companionship?”
“No, really,” she laughed sweetly. “I didn’t say that. You have no reason to jump at such a conclusion. I thank you very much indeed for your words of sympathy.”