Strange that the frank and simple way in which he accepted my presence there, and assumed my willingness to serve him, filled me with a new joy! He said nothing of the night. I think that Diaz was one of the few men who are strong enough never to regret the past. If he was melancholy, it was merely because he suffered bodily in the present.
I gave him water, and he thanked me.
‘Now I will make some tea,’ I said.
And I went into the tiny kitchen and looked around, lifting my skirts.
‘Can you find the things?’ he called out.
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘What’s all that splashing?’ he inquired.
‘I’m washing a saucepan,’ I said.
‘I never have my meals here,’ he called. ‘Only tea. There are two taps to the gas-stove—one a little way up the chimney.’
Yes, I was joyous, actively so. I brought the tea to the bedroom with a glad smile. I had put two cups on the tray, which I placed on the night-table; and there were some biscuits. I sat at the foot of the bed while we drank. And the umbrella, unperceived by Diaz, lay with its handle on a pillow, ludicrous and yet accusing.