It was an impulse. Papillon would have broken him down; anything tender would have sapped his will; and like as not he would have left the stool and rushed into the night. He could talk to her as frankly as he could to a man, that she would not take offence at anything so long as it was in the form of explanation. They found a cosy little table in the tea-rooms, and everything was delicious. ‘Nothing would do for her but to come here,’ grumbled Hilary, wiping his heated brow with a pocket handkerchief dragged from his immaculate white uniform breeches.
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