Part 25 (2/2)
”And is he in love with you?”
”It just depends. Sometimes he's rather fond of me on a Sat.u.r.day; but on Mondays he loathes me.”
”I see. And are you as changeable?”
”No, I love him always; but on Mondays it's mostly from habit. On Sat.u.r.days it's from choice.”
He looked down at her, and it was on the tip of his tongue to state some commonplace about being jealous. Then suddenly he looked back to his steering wheel, and the commonplace sentence died unspoken. Quite unaccountably he felt less inclined to flirt and more inclined to be really friendly, and for some distance they skimmed along in silence.
They had tea at the Star and Garter, both chatting volubly on the most interesting topics of the day. Hal's newspaper work had made her cognisant of many subjects very few girls of her age would even have heard of, and her original criticisms delighted him. It was a gay little tea-table, and the time slipped by with extraordinary rapidity.
Hal noticed it first.
”Do you know it is half-past six?” she said, ”and I'm dining out to-night. We must fly.”
”Is it really past six?...” in astonishment. ”How the time has flown!
You know, you are such an entertaining little woman, you make me forget everything but yourself.” He looked at her hard, and the force of habit caused him to add: ”I doubt if any other woman I know to-day could have given me so much pleasure.”
”Well, you needn't thank me,” with her low, fresh laugh, ”because I came entirely to give myself pleasure.”
”Then I hope you have succeeded. I see it is quite hopeless to expect any sort of a complimentary speech from you.”
”Quite; though I don't mind admitting I have been very enjoyably entertained as well.”
”That is something, anyhow. And now I suppose you are going straight off home to dress, and dine with some one else, and forget about me?”
”I don't suppose I shall forget you. It happens to be a journalist dinner, and probably we shall tear you to pieces between us before we have finished.”
”Well, I'd rather you did that than forget me.”
She felt him looking hard into her face, with something a little sinister in his expression, and she got up and turned away.
”Why do you turn away when I am interested? Don't you think you might be a little pleased that I don't want you to forget me?”
He asked the question with a humorous twinkle, though she felt that he meant it seriously as well. This last, however, she was clever enough to ignore, and merely threw him a mischievous glance over her shoulder as she answered:
”Well, I have to consider Brother Dudley's att.i.tude, you see; and I've a notion he would be best pleased for both the incident and motorist of Sunday evening to be forgotten.”
He got up slowly, looking amused.
”I suppose he would be horrified at this outing?”
”I strongly suspect he would.”
”What if he hears you were out motoring at Richmond with me?”
”Oh, well, I shall tell him you are old enough to be my father, and not to be absurd.”
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