Irene
had now been in the city for several weeks, and he had had opportunity
for scarce a dozen personal words with her. Was he to be baulked by
such an insufferable chaperonage as it seemed the purpose of Mrs. Hardy
and Conward to establish over his love affair? No. In the act of
undressing he told himself No, suiting to the word such vigour of
behaviour that in the morning he found his shoes at opposite corners of
the room. No! He who, as a boy, had not hesitated to assert a sort of
proprietorship over Irene, would not hesitate now-- He was keyed to
the heroic.
Several days passed without any word from Irene, and he had almost made
up his mind to attempt another telephone appointment, when he met her,
quite accidentally, in the street. It was a beautiful afternoon; warm,
but not hot, with a fresh breeze from the mountains flowing through the
unclouded heavens, and a radiant sun pouring down upon all. But Irene
looked more radiant still. She had been shopping, she said. The duty
of household purchases fell mainly upon her. Her mother rested in the
afternoons----
"How about a cup of tea?" said Dave. "And a thin sandwich? And a
delicate morsel of cake? One can always count on thin sandwiches and
delicate morsels of cake. Their function is purely a social one,
having no relation to the physical requirements."
"I should be very glad," said Irene.
They found a quiet tea-room. When they were seated Dave, without
preliminaries, plunged into the subject nearest his heart.
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