Page:The Yellow Book - 08.djvu/219

my pupils knew I was walking along Oxford Street with some one I had never been introduced to———"

"Well?" he said, as she paused.

"Oh, well, it isn't exactly an ordinary thing to do, is it?"

"Why not?"

"Well, it isn't, is it?"

"But must one be ordinary?"

"People won't forgive you for being anything else, unless you are in a history book, where you can't do any harm."

"People be hanged! When shall I see you again?"

"Next time you take a short cut to the City, I suppose. Goodbye."

"Stop!" he cried. And when she did stop, with an air of innocent inquiry on her face, he found he had nothing whatever to say.

"You—you haven't told me your name," he stammered lamely.

"Is that all? You needn't make me any later just for that," she exclaimed, turning away again. "Besides, you haven't told me yours," she added, over her shoulder.

"Do you want to know it?"

"Why, no; it doesn't matter to me. But I thought you wanted to make some more conversation. Good-bye, again."

"Well, I'm hanged! Look here, if I tell you mine, will you tell me yours?"

"But I don't mind a bit if you don't tell me yours."

"Will you, though?"

"Oh, make haste, or else I can't wait to hear it."

"Here you are, then. It is———Tom."

She faced him sternly.

"Why don't you go on?"

"Unwin,"