Louis shook his head.
Mrs. Heath called out in severe accents which were a reproof and a
warning: "Got a sweetbread, Robert? It's for Mrs. Maldon."
The clumsy fool understood that he had blundered.
He had no sweetbread--not even for Mrs. Maldon. The cutlets were
wrapped in newspaper, and Louis rather self-consciously opened the maw
of the reticule for them.
"No offence, I hope, sir," said Heath as the pair left the shop,
thus aggravating his blunder. Louis and Rachel crossed Duck Bank in
constrained silence. Rachel was scarlet. The new cinema next to the
new Congregational chapel blazed in front of them.
"Wouldn't care to look in here, I suppose, would you?" Louis
imperturbably suggested.
Rachel did not reply.
"Only for a quarter of an hour or so," said Louis.
Rachel did not venture to glance up at him. She was so agitated that
she could scarcely speak.
"I don't think so," she muttered.
"Why not?" he exquisitely pleaded. "It will do you good."
She raised her head and saw the expression of his face, so charming,
so provocative, so persuasive. The voice within her was insistent, but
she would not listen to it. Nobody had ever looked at her as Louis
was looking at her then.
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