The unexpectedness of the whole affair, this riding homewards on the top of a 'bus with a man who had come out of nowhere into her life--even if it were only for a few moments.

Would not many another girl in her position be delighted with the experience?
That thought warmed her to a greater appreciation of the situation.
But why had he been waiting outside the door of the office?
Why had he followed her?
How had he known that she was employed in the exacting services of Bonsfield & Co.?
All these questions gyrated wildly in her mind, swept about, confused at finding no plausible answers to their importunate demands.
Then, lastly, who was he?
There are men who suggest to you that they must be somebody; there is an air of distinction about them that glosses the cheapest coat and creases the poorest pair of trousers.
If they are poorly dressed, then it must be that they are masquerading; if their clothes are well-fitting, then it is only what you would have expected.

It makes for no definite confirmation of your opinion.
Sally was made conscious of this impression, and, in its way, that thrilled her too.

You have little chance with a woman in this world if you are a nonentity.

Personality inevitably wins its way, and, in that she was susceptible to the personality of the man beside her, Sally forgot the circumstances of their acquaintance, forgot to review them with that same impartial judgment which she would have exercised had the man conveyed to her mind a more commonplace impression.
Stung then with curiosity to know how he had heard of her, how he had come to be waiting in King Street until she should leave off her work, or whether, as she suspected, it were only that he had been attracted to her as she passed by, she gave herself away with unconscious ingenuousness.
"Why were you waiting in King Street ?" she asked suddenly.
The words hurried, tumbling in a confusion of self-consciousness from her lips.
"Oh--you saw me there ?" said he.
"Yes." "You saw me when you passed ?" "Yes." "Did you know I was walking behind you all the way to Piccadilly Circus ?" "N--no--how should I ?" "You looked back once or twice." "Did I ?" "Why do you want to know why I was waiting in King Street ?" "I don't want to know particularly." "Shall I tell you ?" "Yes." "I had seen you through the window--working at that ghastly typewriter--stood there for more than a quarter of an hour--down the street--waiting till you got sick of it.