Given such an audience, my outward mien must be impeccable.
"There is something," I admitted cautiously, "that I want to say to you.
But I wish you would eat something first. People are watching us," I
added beneath my breath as the soup appeared.
She took a sip under protest, and then replaced her spoon and sat with
fingers twisting her gloves and eyes fixed smolderingly on mine. I
shifted furtively in my seat. This was a charming experience. I was
being, from my point of view, almost quixotically generous; yet with one
glance she could make me feel like a bully and a brute.
"I am sure," I stumbled, fumbling desperately with my serviette, "that
you came over without realizing what war conditions are. Strangers
aren't wanted just now. Travel is dangerous for women. You may think me
all kinds of a presumptuous idiot,--I shan't blame you,--but I am going
to urge you most strongly to go home."
Whatever she had looked for, obviously it was not that.
"Mr. Bayne," she exclaimed, regarding me wonderingly, "what do you
mean?"
"Just this, Miss Falconer," I answered with almost Teutonic
ruthlessness.
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