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Summary
“I came here tonight hoping you might have thought of it—of me—more often than that.”
“His ears have gone red now, too. Arthur, he looks confused, or conflicted? He’s looking back now, trying to read your face. I think you might have misinterpreted the situation. We should leave, now.”
“Oh,” Oscar repeated. “I… of course, but…”
“Yes?” Arthur asked.
Something in Arthur’s serious visage seemed to slip, an almost nervous look betraying him. He swallowed hard. “I only mean that you didn’t have to come here so late just to answer a months-old letter,” Oscar continued quietly.