There was tenderness and humour in them.
"We are next floor neighbours," he said.

"My name's Phillips." Joan thanked him.

As he held the door open for her their hands accidentally touched.

Joan wished him good-night and went up the stairs.
There was no light in her room: only the faint reflection of the street lamp outside.
She could still see him: the boyish smile.

And his voice that had sent her tears back again as if at the word of command.
She hoped he had not seen them.