The train ran into the station and Fyne, jumping out directly it came to
a standstill, seemed glad to cut short the conversation. We walked in
silence a little way, boarded a bus, then walked again. I don't suppose
that since the days of his childhood, when surely he was taken to see the
Tower, he had been once east of Temple Bar. He looked about him
sullenly; and when I pointed out in the distance the rounded front of the
Eastern Hotel at the bifurcation of two very broad, mean, shabby
thoroughfares, rising like a grey stucco tower above the lowly roofs of
the dirty-yellow, two-storey houses, he only grunted disapprovingly.
"I wouldn't lay too much stress on what you have been telling me," I
observed quietly as we approached that unattractive building. "No man
will believe a girl who has just accepted his suit to be not well
balanced,--you know."
"Oh! Accepted his suit," muttered Fyne, who seemed to have been very
thoroughly convinced indeed. "It may have been the other way about." And
then he added: "I am going through with it."
I said that this was very praiseworthy but that a certain moderation of
statement . . . He waved his hand at me and mended his pace. I guessed
that he was anxious to get his mission over as quickly as possible. He
barely gave himself time to shake hands with me and made a rush at the
narrow glass door with the words Hotel Entrance on it. It swung to
behind his back with no more noise than the snap of a toothless jaw.
The absurd temptation to remain and see what would come of it got over my
better judgment. I hung about irresolute, wondering how long an embassy
of that sort would take, and whether Fyne on coming out would consent to
be communicative. I feared he would be shocked at finding me there,
would consider my conduct incorrect, conceivably treat me with contempt.
I walked off a few paces. Perhaps it would be possible to read something
on Fyne's face as he came out; and, if necessary, I could always eclipse
myself discreetly through the door of one of the bars. The ground floor
of the Eastern Hotel was an unabashed pub, with plate-glass fronts, a
display of brass rails, and divided into many compartments each having
its own entrance.
But of course all this was silly. The marriage, the love, the affairs of
Captain Anthony were none of my business. I was on the point of moving
down the street for good when my attention was attracted by a girl
approaching the hotel entrance from the west. She was dressed very
modestly in black. It was the white straw hat of a good form and trimmed
with a bunch of pale roses which had caught my eye. The whole figure
seemed familiar. Of course! Flora de Barral. She was making for the
hotel, she was going in. And Fyne was with Captain Anthony! To meet him
could not be pleasant for her. I wished to save her from the
awkwardness, and as I hesitated what to do she looked up and our eyes
happened to meet just as she was turning off the pavement into the hotel
doorway. Instinctively I extended my arm. It was enough to make her
stop. I suppose she had some faint notion that she had seen me before
somewhere. She walked slowly forward, prudent and attentive, watching my
faint smile.