She dropped her bag on the floor before she sat down, and when Rupert picked it up for her she dropped it again on a plate of cream cakes. He then took it and moved it to his side of the table.
“I thought,” he said smoothly, in a rather low, soothing voice, “that you’d like these cakes better than toast.”
She eagerly assured him that he was right, though it happened to be quite untrue.
“And China tea, of course?”
“Oh, of course!” She disliked it particularly.
“And now, tell me, how has life been treating you?” he asked, as he looked first at her, and then with more eager interest at his pointed polished finger-nails.
Before she could answer, he went on:
“And that book on architecture that I sent you—tell me, have you read it?”
“Every word.”
This was perfectly true; she could have passed an examination in it.