His habit was to resume his practice at three o’clock. The hour was then half-past one. I wondered whether he would allow himself to be seduced from the piano that afternoon by the desire to compose. I hoped not, for there could be no question as to the relative importance to him of the two activities. To my surprise, I heard the piano at two o’clock, instead of at three, and it continued without intermission till five. Then he came, like a sudden wind, on to the terrace where I was having tea. Diaz would never take afternoon tea. He seized my hand impulsively.
‘Come down,’ he said—‘down under the trees there.’
‘What for?’
‘I want you.’
‘But, Diaz, let me put my cup down. I shall spill the tea on my dress.’
‘I’ll take your cup.’
‘And I haven’t nearly finished my tea, either. And you’re hurting me.’
‘I’ll bring you a fresh cup,’ he said. ‘Come, come!’
And he dragged me off, laughing, to the lower part of the garden, where were two chairs in the shade. And I allowed myself to be dragged.
‘There! Sit down. Don’t move. I’ll fetch your tea.’