Again he had held off for ten days, but the situation had continued out of hand in spite of that; the fact that it was running so fast being indeed just WHY he had held off.

What had come over him as he recognised her in the nave of the church was that holding off could be but a losing game from the instant she was worked for not only by her subtlety, but by the hand of fate itself.

If all the accidents were to fight on her side--and by the actual showing they loomed large--he could only give himself up.

This was what he had done in privately deciding then and there to propose she should breakfast with him.

What did the success of his proposal in fact resemble but the smash in which a regular runaway properly ends?
The smash was their walk, their dejeuner, their omelette, the Chablis, the place, the view, their present talk and his present pleasure in it--to say nothing, wonder of wonders, of her own.