And Now Good-bye by James Hilton — Read

"Good evening, Mr. Freemantle," she said, in a slow soft-toned voice (it was as if, too, he had never heard it before), and he said "Good evening" and observed her rather incredulously. A certain sense of the extraordinariness of the situation came over him, and with a little effort he made himself recollect how matters stood--he a Browdley parson meeting a young girl at Charing Cross to persuade her not to run away to Paris with an elderly Jew with a bald head and gold teeth (he could not unfix that graphic picture from his mind). But the picture gave him renewed and indignant confidence; by God, he thought, glancing at her again, she mustn't do a thing like that; it would be worse than an offence against morals, it would be--and then he checked himself and wondered what _could_ be worse than an offence against morals? Dimly he felt that something could be, and the feeling, obscure and transient, linked itself with all the new and astonishing perceptions that were invading him from all directions. By God, no, she mustn't; he must prevent her, at all costs. And, as earnestly as he had ever prayed for anything, he prayed, wordlessly, for strength to achieve that end.

"I got your letter," she was saying, returning his glance with one just as curious. "It was nice of you to think of meeting me. Are you in London for long?"