re as you say they are, but the
affair of the ring--of the unexpected ring--puzzled me. Wish SHE"--he
indicated Miss Klegg's back with a nod--"was at the bottom of the
sea.... I would like to talk to you about this--soon. If you don't think
it would be a social outrage, perhaps I might walk with you to your
railway station."

"I will wait," said Ann Veronica, still not looking at him, "and we will
go into Regent's Park. No--you shall come with me to Waterloo."

"Right!" he said, and hesitated, and then got up and went into the
preparation-room.

Part 3

For a time they walked in silence through the back streets that lead
southward from the College. Capes bore a face of infinite perplexity.

"The thing I feel most disposed to say, Miss Stanley," he began at last,
"is that this is very sudden."

"It's been coming on since first I came into the laboratory."

"What do you want?" he asked, bluntly.

"You!" said Ann Veronica.

The sense of publicity, of people coming and going about them, kept
them both unemotional. And neither had any of that theatricality which
demands gestures and facial expression.

"I suppose you know I like you tremendously?" he pursued.

"You told me that in the Zoological Gardens."

She found her muscles a-tremble. But there was nothing in her bearing
that a passer-by would have noted, to tell of the excitement that
possessed her.

"I"--he seemed to have a difficulty with the word--"I love you. I've
told you that practically already. But I can give it its name now. You
needn't be in any doubt about it. I tell you that because it puts us on
a footing...."

They went on for a time without another word.

"But don't you know about me?" he said at last.

"Something. Not much."

"I'm a married man. And my wife won't live with me for reasons that I
think most women would consider sound.... Or I should have made love
to you long ago."

There came a silence again.

"I don't care," said Ann Veronica.

"But if you knew anything of that--"

"I did. It doesn't matter."

"Why did you tell me? I thought--I thought we were going to be friends."

He was suddenly resentful. He seemed to charge her with the ruin of
their situation. "Why on earth did you TELL me?" he cried.

"I couldn't help it. It was an impulse. I HAD to."

"But it changes things. I thought you understood."

"I had to," she repeated. "I was sick of the make-believe. I don't care!
I'm glad I did. I'm glad I did."