We turned up University Street, and could already see the lights in St Olav's Place. Then she commenced to walk slowly again.
"I have no wish to be indiscreet," I say; "but won't you tell me your name before we part? and won't you, just for one second, lift up your veil so that I can see you? I would be really so grateful."
A pause. I walked on in expectation.
"You have seen me before," she replies.
"Ylajali," I say again.
"Beg pardon. You followed me once for half-a-day, almost right home. Were you tipsy that time?"
I could hear again that she smiled.
"Yes," I said. "Yes, worse luck, I was tipsy that time."
"That was horrid of you!"
And I admitted contritely that it was horrid of me.
We reached the fountains; we stop and look up at the many lighted windows of No. 2.
"Now, you mustn't come any farther with me," she says. "Thank you for coming so far."
I bowed; I daren't say anything; I took off