Charles waked up. 'I want a white one,' he repeated, 'with crimson
ribbon. No pictures.' The assistant went away and he turned to
Henrietta. 'It's for you,' he said.
'Charles, don't speak so loud.'
'I don't care. But I suppose you're ashamed of me. Yes, of course,
that's it.'
'Don't be silly,' Henrietta said, 'and do be quick, because I want
some chocolates myself.'
With the large box, white and crimson-ribboned and wrapped in paper,
under his arm, he waited until she was served, and then they walked
together down the street, made brilliant with the lights of many
little shops.
'This is for you,' he said, 'but I'll carry it.'
'But this isn't the way home.'
'No.' They turned back into the dimmer road bordering The Green.
'I suppose you wouldn't walk round the hill?'
'I don't mind.' She felt as she might have done in the company of some
large, protective dog. He was there, saving her from the fear of
molestation, but there was no need to speak to him, it was almost
impossible to think consecutively of him, yet she did remind herself
that a very long time ago, when she was young, he had said wonderful
things to her. She had forgotten that fact in the stir of these last
days.
'I got these chocolates for you,' he said again. 'I thought perhaps
that was the kind of thing I ought to do. I don't know, and you can't
ask people because they'd laugh. Why didn't you come to tea on
Sunday?'
'I can't come every Sunday.
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