Presently they heard a church clock strike. It chimed
seven. Julian was astonished to find that time had gone so quickly.
"I must be going," he said.
The lady looked at him with an odd, half-impudent, half-girlish, and
wistful scrutiny.
"I say," she began, and stopped.
"Yes?"
"I say--why ever did you come?"
The short question that expressed her wondering curiosity might well have
driven any thoughtful man into tears. And Julian, young and careless as
he often was, felt something of the terror and the pain enshrined in it.
But he did not let her see this.
"I wanted to have a talk with you," he answered.
"A talk; you like a talk with me?"
"Yes, surely."
She still stared at him with pathetic eyes. He had stood up.
"Oh," she said. "Well, dearie, I'm glad."
Julian took up his hat.
"I'm going out too," she said.
"Are you?"
"Yes."
She threw a sidelong glance at him, then added hardily, although her
painted lips were suddenly quivering:
"I've got to go to work."
"I know," Julian said. "Well, I will wait till you are ready and drive
you wherever you want to go."
"_Want_ to go," she began, with a little, shrill, hideous laugh. Then,
pulling herself up, she added in a subdued voice:
"Thank you, dearie.
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