orchard, for their love had been born and bred in town—Highbury New Park, to be exact. He came towards her; he was five minutes late. She had grown anxious, as the one who waits always does, and she was extremely glad to see him, but she knew that a late lover should be treated with a provoking coldness (one can relent prettily later on), so she gave him a limp hand and no greeting.
"Let's go out," he said. "Shall we walk along the Embankment, or go somewhere on the Underground?"
It was bitterly cold, but the Embankment was more romantic than a railway carriage. He ought to insist on the railway carriage: he probably would. So she said—
"Oh, the Embankment, please!" and felt a sting of annoyance and disappointment when he acquiesced.
They did not speak again till they had gone through the little back streets, past the police station and the mustard factory, and were on the broad pavement of Queen Victoria Street.
He had been late: he had offered no excuse, no explanation. She had done the proper thing;
