"I may be going away to-morrow," she said.

"May you?"

"But I shall be back on Thursday. Shall we dine together that night?"

"I am dining with a Russian friend of mine who is passing through
London."

"Friday, then?"

"Friday I am going to the country for the week-end."

"Then it will have to be Monday."

"Yes, I am afraid so."

"Afraid that you will have to dine with me?"

"How civil you are!"

There was a pause. She wished she could keep all the acid out of her
voice. He thought how tiresome women were, always wanting to know just
what you were going to do.

"Bill," she said, holding out her hand, which he took rather
perfunctorily. He felt like a dog that knows exactly which trick follows
what word of command, but as, from force of habit, he invariably became
lover-like when he was absent-minded, he stroked her arm with a
significant caressing gesture that filled her with joy.