She stopped on the landing.
“In here,” he said, passing her and opening the door. He stood aside to let her in.
“It’s not much,” he said again, seeing the room suddenly in a new light. It did somehow seem small and sordid. The wallpaper seemed more faded and the furniture shabbier. He wished that he had a bright, well-furnished room to offer her.
He saw Leo curled up on the bed.
“That’s my cat…” he began.
Then Leo opened its eyes, took one scared look at Cora and was gone, streaking through the open doorway, sending a mat flying. They heard it rushing madly down the stairs.
George sighed. That hadn’t happened for months.
“He’s awfully scared of strangers,” he said, apologetically, and closed the door. “I had quite a time with him at first, but we’re great friends now. Do you like cats?”
“Cats?” She seemed far away. “They’re all right, I suppose.” She put the cardboard container on his dressing-table and moved further into the room.
George took off his hat and hung it in the cupboard. Now that he was alone with her in this little room he felt shy, uneasy. The bed seemed horribly conspicuous. In fact, the bed embarrassed him: the room seemed all bed.