When he caught up with her, he said, 'You really must let me pay . . .'
'Now shut up!' Cora said. 'I never accept anything from any man. I'm independent, and if I'm going to see you again, the sooner you understand that the better.'
If she was going to see him again! George stared at her hopefully. Did that mean . . .? He blinked. It must mean that. People just didn't say things like that if they didn't intend seeing you again.
'Well, if you really want to . . .' he said, not quite sure how he should react to such an ultimatum.
'I do!' she returned emphatically. 'Now come on, don't stand there blocking the way.'
'We'll want some beer,' George said, falling in step beside her. 'I suppose you want to pay for your bottle, too?' He said it half jokingly, and then looked at her quickly to see if he had caused offence.
She glanced at him. 'I'm certainly going to pay for my own beer,' she said. 'Does that amuse you?'
And as he looked down at her, arrogant, small but durable, it happened. He found himself suddenly, utterly and completely in love with her. It was an overpowering feeling that stupefied him, made him water at the eyes, made him weak in the legs.
They looked at each other. Whether she saw the change in him, he wasn't sure. He felt she must be able to read his thoughts. She couldn't fail to see how completely crazy he was about her. If she did, she made no sign, but went on, her head a little higher, her chest arched.
They bought two bottles of beer at the off-licence at the corner of George's street. Then they went on to the boardinghouse.
'I'm afraid it isn't much,' George muttered apologetically as he opened the front door. 'But if you think you'll like it . . .' His voice died away as he glanced uneasily round the hall.
There was no one about. The sound of dishes clattering in the basement reassured him.
Cora went straight upstairs. She wasn't a fool, George thought. She knows I'm nervous about her being here. She's going straight up. There's no nonsense about her.
He eyed her slim hips as she went on ahead of him. She was beautiful. There was absolutely no doubt about it. Most women looked awful in trousers. They stuck out and they wobbled, but not Cora. She was hard, slim, neat.
So he was in love with her. And he was lucky, too. Not many men would be as fortunate as he. She wasn't going to run him into any expense. He knew what girls were like. Spend—spend—spend, all the time. They didn't think you loved them unless you continually spent money on them. But Cora wasn't like that. She was independent. 'If I'm going to see you again . . .' It was the most wonderful evening of his life!
'Just one more flight,' he said, as she glanced back over her shoulder. 'And you turn to the right when you get to the top.'
She stopped on the landing.
'In here,' he said, passing her and opening the door. He stood aside to let her in.
'It's not much,' he said again, seeing the room suddenly in a new light. It did somehow seem small and sordid. The wallpaper seemed more faded and the furniture shabbier. He wished that he had a bright, well-furnished room to offer her.
He saw Leo curled up on the bed.
'That's my cat . . .' he began.
Then Leo opened its eyes, took one scared look at Cora and was gone, streaking through the open doorway, sending a mat flying. They heard it rushing madly down the stairs.
George sighed. That hadn't happened for months.
'He's awfully scared of strangers,' he said, apologetically, and closed the door. 'I had quite a time with him at first, but we're great friends now. Do you like cats?'
'Cats?' She seemed far away. 'They're all right, I suppose.' She put the cardboard container on his dressing-table and moved further into the room.
George took off his hat and hung it in the cupboard. Now that he was alone with her in this little room he felt shy, uneasy. The bed seemed horribly conspicuous. In fact, the bed embarrassed him: the room seemed all bed.
'Do sit down,' he said, fussing around her. 'I'll get some glasses. I've got one here, and there's another in the bathroom. I'm afraid they're only tooth glasses, but it doesn't matter does it?'
Without waiting for her to reply, he left the room and hurried to the bathroom on the next floor. He was glad to be away from her for a moment. In fact, he would have been pleased if she had suddenly changed her mind about spending the evening with him He was finding her a little overpowering. The experience of falling in love with her like this was a bit shattering. He needed quiet to think about it.
He was nervous of her too. There was something cynical and cold and cross about her. He felt that if he said the wrong thing she would he unkind to him. He wanted to avoid that at all costs. So far, apart from the faux pas about the Dorchester -that had been a dumb, brainless suggestion—he had managed fairly well up to now. But he was losing his nerve. It was like walking a tight-rope. He had had one narrow escape, and now, out on the rope with a sheer drop below, he was rapidly getting into a panic. What was he to talk about? How could he hope to amuse her for the next hour or so? If only she had asked to be taken to a movie!
How simple that would have been! All he would have had to do was to buy the tickets—and anyway, she would probably have insisted on paying for herself—and the film would have taken care of the rest of the evening.
He mustn't keep her waiting, he thought, as he took the glass from the metal holder. He hurried back, hesitated outside the door and then went in.
She was sitting on the bed, her hands on her knees, her legs crossed.
