‘Léonore, then?’ She shook her head animatedly, enjoying his attention. He HAD followed her! What had he followed her for? He must have followed her all the way from beyond Grosvenor Square. “Perhaps,” she said, “it is the London climate. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. You speak as one injured—as though I had been the one to take your name—as though you had been the one to make sacrifices. May I go on a date tomorrow night with John Diedermayer?\" She did not look at Mike, who she knew would be wounded. He got up. They sat in the front row.
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