However this may have been, there is no doubt that both were content with the present. And on a night in June, some three weeks before the events of the last chapter, Henry Brown might have been seen seated opposite his friend in a cheap Soho restaurant. They had just finished supper, and both were smoking. To be honest, Mr. Brown did not altogether approve of the cigarette, but he had never dared to object. "Besides," he thought tolerantly, "these foreigners.... But what I wonder is, when they marry do they take to a pipe? If so, good lord!..." His distress vanished as he looked again upon her: she was too pretty to disapprove of. "A bit of Orl right," he reflected; "if only I dared ask her and she said 'Yes.'"
The time for separation came at last, and Mr. Brown sighed as he helped her put on her coat. On the steps of the restaurant they paused, for it was raining. "You must have a cab," he said decisively; and then, hesitating, "I wish you would let me see you home for once."
Her partial acquiescence surprised him, for hitherto he had never been permitted to escort her home in a cab. As a hansom drove up in answer to the whistle, he wondered if it might be taken as a sign. With bounding pulses he thought, "Shall I risk it and ask her?" And then, with a return of sanity, "No; better wait and not spoil it." He handed her in carefully, stepped in beside her, and asked what address he should give. "Oh, Trafalgar Square," she replied carelessly, "and then St. Paul's if necessary."
He obeyed, wondering what she could mean.
The cab had scarcely started before she turned to him and said demurely, "You must think this strange--immodest, almost. But I have a reason. First of all, I wish to thank you for your many kindnesses."
She paused, and he was understood to murmur, "Not at all. An honor." She continued:
"But there is a question I must ask, and I beg a truthful answer. Why have you so befriended a poor and humble girl like myself?"
At this question Henry Brown performed a _volte-face_. A moment before he had resolved to wait. But being in love, encouraged by an excellent supper and some Chianti, and fired by the graciousness of his divinity, he threw caution to the winds. Though in the privacy of his office he had more than once rehearsed the scene and prepared effective orations, beginning "Miss," "Honored Ma'amselle," and "My dear Miss," he merely said, "Well, it's this way, you see: I love you."