Part 21 (1/2)
”Drunk?” said Traill.
She nodded.
”Poor devil!”
A thousand apprehensions fled--darkening--across her face. So pa.s.s a flight of starlings with a thousand whirring wings that sweep out light of the sun.
”You think I treated him badly?”
”No, I didn't say so.”
”But you think it?” She begged eagerly, importunately.
”No, no, my dear child; no. What else could you do?”
”But you felt sorry for him?”
”Do you forbid it? I was putting myself in his shoes, feeling for the moment what he must have felt. Sift it down and you'll find at the bottom that I really said poor devil for myself.” He laughed as he looked at her. ”Well, now,” he went on, ”we're getting more than halfway through dinner and we haven't decided where we're going to yet. What's it to be?”
”Really, I don't mind a little bit.”
”Oh, you never give any help at all.”
She laughed light-heartedly. ”I find I get along quite all right if I let you choose.”
”You're satisfied?”
”Absolutely.”
”Well, then; I'm not going to offer inviolable judgment. I'm only going to make a suggestion.”
”What is it?”
”My rooms are in Regent Street--”
”I know; I looked up the number the other day in the _Who's Who?_ after we'd had lunch.”
”Was that to know if I'd told the truth?” He held her eyes for the answer as you put your metal in the vice.
”No, of course not! How could you think I'd dream of such a thing?”
”Many women might.”
”I certainly shouldn't.”
A look of tenderness as it pa.s.sed across his face freed her. She turned her eyes away. He was finding her so absolutely a child, and on the moment paused. There is a moment when a pause holds possibility laden full in its two hands. He let it slip by--it rode off like a feather on the wind. He lost sight of it.
”Well, what's your suggestion?” she asked.