While the Light Lasts by Agatha Christie Page A

she said: ‘You bought that handkerchief!’
    He was amazed at this proof of feminine perspicacity, and still more amazed at her remembering it against him now. Surely, after this lapse of time, it might have been forgiven him.
    â€˜Yes, I did,’ he acknowledged humbly. ‘I wanted an excuse to speak to you. Are you very angry?’ He waited meekly for her words of condemnation.
    â€˜I think it was sweet of you!’ cried the little lady with vehemence. ‘Just sweet of you!’ Her voice ended uncertainly.
    Frank Oliver went on in his gruff tone:
    â€˜Tell me, child, is it impossible? I know I’m an ugly, rough old fellow…’
    The Lonely Lady interrupted him.
    â€˜No, you’re not! I wouldn’t have you different, not in any way. I love you just as you are, do you understand? Not because I’m sorry for you, not because I’m alone in the world and want someone to be fond of me and take care of me–but because you’re just– you . Now do you understand?’
    â€˜Is it true?’ he asked half in a whisper.
    And she answered steadily: ‘Yes, it’s true–’ The wonder of it overpowered them.
    At last he said whimsically: ‘So we’ve fallen upon heaven, dearest!’
    â€˜In an ABC shop,’ she answered in a voice that held tears and laughter.
    But terrestrial heavens are short-lived. The little lady started up with an exclamation.
    â€˜I’d no idea how late it was! I must go at once.’
    â€˜I’ll see you home.’
    â€˜No, no, no! ’
    He was forced to yield to her insistence, and merely accompanied her as far as the Tube station.
    â€˜Goodbye, dearest.’ She clung to his hand with an intensity that he remembered afterwards.
    â€˜Only goodbye till tomorrow,’ he answered cheerfully. ‘Ten o’clock as usual, and we’ll tell each other our names and our histories, and be frightfully practical and prosaic.’
    â€˜Goodbye to–heaven, though,’ she whispered.
    â€˜It will be with us always, sweetheart!’
    She smiled back at him, but with that same sad appeal that disquieted him and which he could not fathom. Then the relentless lift dragged her down out of sight.
    IV
    He was strangely disturbed by those last words of hers, but he put them resolutely out of his mind and substituted radiant anticipations of tomorrow in their stead.
    At ten o’clock he was there, in the accustomed place. For the first time he noticed how malevolently the other idols looked down upon him. It almost seemed as if they were possessed of some secret evil knowledgeaffecting him, over which they were gloating. He was uneasily aware of their dislike.
    The little lady was late. Why didn’t she come? The atmosphere of this place was getting on his nerves. Never had his own little friend ( their god) seemed so hopelessly impotent as today. A helpless lump of stone, hugging his own despair!
    His cogitations were interrupted by a small, sharp-faced boy who had stepped up to him, and was earnestly scrutinizing him from head to foot. Apparently satisfied with the result of his observations, he held out a letter.
    â€˜For me?’
    It had no superscription. He took it, and the sharp boy decamped with extraordinary rapidity.
    Frank Oliver read the letter slowly and unbelievingly. It was quite short.
    Dearest,
    I can never marry you. Please forget that I ever came into your life at all, and try to forgive me if I have hurt you. Don’t try to find me, because it will be no good. It is really ‘goodbye’.
    The Lonely Lady
    There was a postscript which had evidently been scribbled at the last moment:
    I do love you. I do indeed.
    And that little impulsive postscript was all the comfort he had in the weeks that followed. Needless to say, he disobeyed her injunction ‘not to try to find her’, but all in vain. She had vanished completely, and he had no clue to trace her by. He