It was getting late and the shop was empty but for one assistant and a tall young man. This was Charles Batty, taking a great deal of trouble over his purchase, for spread before him on the counter was an assortment of large chocolate boxes adorned with bows of ribbon and pictures of lovers leaning over stiles and red-lipped maidens caressing dogs.
“I don’t like these pictures,” Henrietta heard him mutter bashfully.
“Here’s one with roses. Roses are always suitable.” “No,” he said, “I want a big white box with crimson ribbon.” Henrietta stepped up to his side. “I’ll help you choose,” she said.
He started, stared, forgot to take off his hat. He gazed at her with the absorption of some connoisseur looking at the perfect thing he has dreamed of: he looked without greed and with a sort of ecstasy which left his face expressionless and embarrassed Henrietta in the presence of the arch girl behind the counter.
Charles waked up. “I want a white one,” he repeated, “with crimson ribbon. No pictures.” The assistant went away and he turned to Henrietta. “It’s for you,” he said.
“I don’t care. But I suppose you’re ashamed of me. Yes, of course, that’s it.”
“Don’t be silly,” Henrietta said, “and do be quick, because I want some chocolates myself.”
With the large box, white and crimson-ribboned and wrapped in paper, under his arm, he waited until she was served, and then they walked together down the street, made brilliant with the lights of many little shops.
“This is for you,” he said, “but I’ll carry it.”
“No.” They turned back into the dimmer road bordering The Green.
“I suppose you wouldn’t walk round the hill?”
“I don’t mind.” She felt as she might have done in the company of some large, protective dog. He was there, saving her from the fear of molestation, but there was no need to speak to him, it was almost impossible to think consecutively of him, yet she did remind herself that a very long time ago, when she was young, he had said wonderful things to her. She had forgotten that fact in the stir of these last days.
“I got these chocolates for you,” he said again. “I thought perhaps that was the kind of thing I ought to do. I don’t know, and you can’t ask people because they’d laugh. Why didn’t you come to tea on Sunday?”