He had tried hard to see Eleanor Moore again, but without success.
Every day for a fortnight he went to lunch in the tea-shop where he had
first seen her, and in the evening he would hang about the entrance to
the offices where she was employed; but he did not see her either there
or in the tea-shop, and when a fortnight of disappointment had gone by,
he concluded that he would never see her again. He imagined that she
was ill, that she had left London, that she had obtained work
elsewhere, that he had frightened her ... for he remembered her
startled look when she hurried from him into the Tube lift ... and
finally and crushingly that she had married someone else. In the mood
of bitterness that followed this devastating thought, he planned a
tragedy, and in the evenings, when Hinde was engaged for his paper, he
worked at it. But the bitterness which he put into it failed to relieve
him of any of the bitterness that was in his own mind. He felt doubly
betrayed by Eleanor Moore because he had had so little encouragement
from her. It hurt him to think that he had only succeeded in alarming
her. Maggie Carmichael had responded instantly when he spoke to her and
had accepted his embraces and his kisses as amiably as she had accepted
his chocolates he had bought for her; but this girl with the tender
blue eyes that changed their expression so frequently, had made no
response to his offer of affection, had run away from it. If only she
had listened to him! He was certain that he could have persuaded her to
"go out" with him. He had only to tell her that he loved her, and she
would realise that a man who could fall in love with her so immediately
as he had done must be acceptable!... The affair with Maggie Carmichael
had considerably dashed his belief in romantic love, but he told
himself now that it would be ridiculous to condemn his Uncle Matthew's
ideals because one girl had fallen short of them. If Maggie Carmichael
had behaved badly, that was not a sign that Eleanor Moore would also
behave badly. Besides, Eleanor was different from Maggie. There was no
comparison between the two girls. After all, he had not really cared
for Maggie: he had only fancied that he cared for her. But there was no
fancying or imagination about his love for Eleanor, and if he had the
good fortune to meet her again, he would not let anything prevent him
from telling her plump and plain that he wanted to marry her. Whenever
he left the house, he looked about, no matter where he went, in the
hope that he might see her.