Part 7 (1/2)
”All the season, I think.”
”Then I hope we may meet again soon, very soon.”
He hesitated, put one hand in his pocket, and brought out a card-case.
”I should like to give you my address.”
”And let me give you mine.”
They exchanged cards.
”I expect you'll be very busy,” said the curate, rather doubtfully.
Then he added, like a man urged on by some strong, almost overpowering desire to do a thing not quite natural to him:
”But I wish you could spare an evening to come to dine with me. I live very modestly, of course. I'm in rooms, in Hornton Street--do you know it?--near Campden Hill?--Number 4a--as you'll see on my card. I wonder--”
”I shall be delighted to come.”
”When?”
”Whenever you are kind enough to ask me.”
”Could you come on Wednesday week? It's so unfortunate, I have such a quant.i.ty of parish engagements--that is my first evening free.”
”Wednesday week, with pleasure.”
”At half after seven?”
”That will suit me perfectly.”
”And”--he looked toward the door--”I shall be greatly obliged to you if you won't mention to the rector the fact that you are coming. He--”
”My wife's in the boudoir,” said Mr. Harding, coming into the room at this moment.
He stood by the door.
Malling shook hands with Chichester, and went to say good-by to his hostess.
Mr. Harding shut the drawing-room door.
”This is the way,” he said. ”Well, Mr. Malling? Well?”
”You mean you want to know--?”
”Your impression of Chichester.”
The rector stopped on the landing.