"Well, then, I'm not tired, and I wouldn't like to be made more comfortable. I'm very well as I am. Do you want to go to sleep?"
"I want to, but I know I can't. I'm getting hungry. Are you?"
"Getting? I've got. If Simpkins were here I'd have her make us tea, in my tea-basket."
"I'll make it if you like," I volunteered.
"A French—a half French—girl make tea?"
"It's the American half that knows how."
"You look too ornamental to be useful. But you can try."
I did try, and succeeded. It was rather fun, and never did tea taste so delicious. There were biscuits to go with it, which Beau shared; and I do wish that people (other people) were obliged to make faces when they eat, such as Beau has to make, because if so, one could add a new interest to life by inviting even the worst bores to dinner.
I was fascinated with his contortions, and I did not attempt to conceal my sudden change of opinion concerning Beau as a companion. When I had humbly invited him to drink out of my saucer, which I held from high tide to low, I saw that my conquest of his mistress was complete. Already we had exchanged names, as well as some confidences. I knew that she was Miss Paget, and she knew that I was Lys d'Angely; but after the tea-drinking episode she became doubly friendly.
She told me that, owing to an unforeseen circumstance (partly, even largely, connected with Beau) which had caused a great upheaval in her life, she had now not a human being belonging to her, except her maid Simpkins, of whom she would like to get rid if only she knew how.