Quicksand
He was, she saw, getting himself together. “It‘s only another way of saying that everybody, almost, some time sooner or later comes to Harlem, even you.”
He laughed. “Yes, I guess that is true enough. I didn‘t come to stay, though.” And then he was grave, his earnest eyes searchingly upon her.
“Well, anyway, you‘re here now, so let‘s find a quiet corner if that‘s possible, where we can talk. I want to hear all about you.”
For a moment he hung back and a glint of mischief shone in Helga‘s eyes. “I see,” she said, “you‘re just the same. However, you needn‘t be anxious. This isn‘t Naxos, you know. Nobody‘s watching us, or if they are, they don‘t care a bit what we do.”
At that he flushed a little, protested a little, and followed her. And when at last they had found seats in another room, not so crowded, he said: “I didn‘t expect to see you here. I thought you were still abroad.”
225
