'I suppose I am,' George said, crushed. 'You see, I'm not used to women. I don't understand them.'
'Well, at the rate you're going on, you never will,' she returned. 'What makes you think I wouldn't be bothered with you?'
George shrugged. 'Well, you won't, will you?'
'What does that mean? You won't, will you?'
'What's the good of talking about it? You asked me if I loved you, and I said I did. You don't love me, do you?'
'Of course I don't,' she returned, 'but that doesn't mean that I couldn't love you, does it?'
George stared at her. 'What was that?'
'Don't he so dumb!' There was an impatient note in her voice. 'I said that doesn't mean I couldn't love you, does it?'
'Could you?'
'Not if you behave like a stuffed hull. A girl likes a little action now and then.'
George could scarcely believe his ears. 'Action?' he repeated blankly.
'My God!' she exclaimed, and suddenly laughed. 'I don't believe it's possible! You're nothing but a schoolboy! Why don't you grow up?'
He began to tremble. God! He was making a mess of this, he thought desperately. What a stupid fool he was! She was inviting him to make love to her, and all he could do was to sit and tremble!
'What's the matter?' she asked sharply. 'Aren't you well?'
'I'm all right,' he said, and suddenly reached out for her hand. It felt cool and slim in his burning great paw. 'Cora! I say, Cora . . .' and he pulled her upright and kissed her clumsily.
She made no move, leaning back against his arm, her face a white blur in the darkness. Her perfume intoxicated him, the touch of her smooth cheek against his lips sent blood pounding in his ears.
'I do love you so,' he said, and kissed her throat, holding her against him tightly.
They remained like that for a minute or two, then she pushed him away.
'All right, George,' she said, 'now back to your chair. That'll do for one night. It seems you can grow up when you want to.'
He didn't want to go, and took hold of her hand.
'Be nice to me, Cora,' he pleaded. 'Let me kiss you again.'
'I said that's enough,' she said sharply. 'Here, put this somewhere,' and she gave him her cigarette butt. He took it and crossed the room to the fireplace. His legs felt weak, and he was in a kind of stupor. When he had got rid of the cigarette butt he stood at the foot of the bed, looking into the darkness where she was.
'We will meet again, won't we?' he said, terrified now that this experience was going to slip through his fingers, like all the dreams he had ever had.
'We'll meet,' she returned, yawning, 'and now I'm going to sleep.'
'But what about Sydney? What shall we do about him?'
'He needn't know.'
This excited him almost as much as when she had said that she might cone to love him. Having a secret between them—a secret from Sydney—seemed to seal the bond of their relationship.
'Are you on the 'phone?'
'Yes I am.'
'Can I ring you sometimes? We might go out one night.'
'All right.'
'I'd better make a note of the number,' George felt feverishly in his pocket for a pencil.
'It's in the book, Harris & Son, greengrocer. We've got a place above the shop.'
'That's wonderful. Harris & Son. That's easy to remember, isn't it?'
'Now for God's sake go to sleep,' Cora said. 'If you dare say another word I'll really be angry with you!'
'All right,' George said, satisfied. 'Good night.'
'Good night,' she returned shortly, and he heard her turn over in the bed.
He groped his way to the chair and settled down. He glanced out of the window. It had stopped raining, and a misty moon floated in the sky. The pavements looked black and shiny in the street lights. In the distance a clock struck the half hour after eleven.
George shut his eyes. He was too excited to sleep. The whole of his cramped, lonely world had suddenly opened up like a gay sunshade. What an evening it had been! His life was going to be very different now. With Cora, he need never be lonely again. Whenever he wanted someone to talk to, he could ring her up. If he hadn't enough money to take her out, he could always have a few words with her on the 'phone. There was a telephone box at the corner of his street. There would be no need to stand in the passage in the basement, for everyone to hear what he had to say to her. Marvellous things, telephone boxes, he thought. Little houses of glass where you could talk to the one you loved, see the people passing, and knowing they could not overhear what you had to say. You need never be lonely if there was a telephone box handy and a girl like Cora at the other end of the line.
He had been a hit of a fool with her. But he had been lucky. Or rather she had been pretty decent about it. 'A
