He walked hastily to the side of the broad pavement and summoned a fiacre. The aunt rushed over to her nephew, knelt and wrapped him in her arms. It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed. His friendship seemed a thing worth having. She had no inkling of that insupportable wrong. It was a moment or two before Gerald, opening his eyes on the girl’s astounded expression, recollected himself sufficiently to pull out of the extraordinary impact she’d had on him. “We’ll go to a place where we can have a private room,” he said. "Excuse me," he said, plunging his fork into a fowl, and transferring it to his plate. “So you’re the one my son has been talking about. ‘Who has begun this but you?’ Gerald barely heard her. ‘What is the matter?’ ‘Is there nothing you do not know?’ she asked faintly. Her grave fine face, her warm clear complexion, had already aroused his curiosity as he had gone to and fro in Morningside Park, and here suddenly he was near to her and talking freely and intimately.
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