She murmured that it would be lovely.
“I should like to drive you home,” he said rather half-heartedly, as they stood at the door in the rain; “in fact, I should insist upon doing so …”
“Oh no!”
… “But I have an appointment with a friend I’m expecting to call for me here. Au revoir, then!”
She went away happy, disturbed, anxious and delighted, as she always was when she had seen him. She ran straight to her dressing-table, took off her hat, put something gold in her hair and tried to look Byzantine.
He returned to the little table. He had it cleared, and ordered fresh tea and cakes. Then he took out his watch.
In about twenty minutes, during which he grew rather nervous and impatient, he rose and went to the door again to greet another guest, who had been invited to tea an hour and a half later than Madeline.
She also was a young girl, good-looking, very dark and rather inclined to fullness in face and figure. When I say that she had handsome regular aquiline features, two thick curtains of black hair drawn over her ears, from which depended long ear-rings of imitation coral, it seems almost unnecessary to add (for this type of girl always dresses in the same way) that she wore a flat violet felt hat, the back of which touched her shoulders, a particularly tight dark blue serge coat and skirt, a very low collar, and lisle thread stockings which showed above low shiny shoes with white spats. In her hands she held a pair of new white gloves, unworn.
She bounced in with a good deal of aplomb, and, without apologising for her lateness, began to chatter a little louder than most of the people present, and with great confidence.
“No, not China tea, thanks. I prefer Indian. Oh, not cream cakes; I hate them. Can’t I have hot tea-cakes? Thanks. I’ve no idea what the time is. I’ve been to Mimsie’s studio. She would insist on doing a drawing of me, and I’m sitting to her”—she turned her face a little on one side—“like this, you know.”