“Do sit down,” he said, fussing around her. “I’ll get some glasses. I’ve got one here, and there’s another in the bathroom. I’m afraid they’re only tooth glasses, but it doesn’t matter does it?”
Without waiting for her to reply, he left the room and hurried to the bathroom on the next floor. He was glad to be away from her for a moment. In fact, he would have been pleased if she had suddenly changed her mind about spending the evening with him He was finding her a little overpowering. The experience of falling in love with her like this was a bit shattering. He needed quiet to think about it.
He was nervous of her too. There was something cynical and cold and cross about her. He felt that if he said the wrong thing she would he unkind to him. He wanted to avoid that at all costs. So far, apart from the faux pas about the Dorchester -that had been a dumb, brainless suggestion—he had managed fairly well up to now. But he was losing his nerve. It was like walking a tight-rope. He had had one narrow escape, and now, out on the rope with a sheer drop below, he was rapidly getting into a panic. What was he to talk about? How could he hope to amuse her for the next hour or so? If only she had asked to be taken to a movie!
How simple that would have been! All he would have had to do was to buy the tickets—and anyway, she would probably have insisted on paying for herself—and the film would have taken care of the rest of the evening.
He mustn’t keep her waiting, he thought, as he took the glass from the metal holder. He hurried back, hesitated outside the door and then went in.
She was sitting on the bed, her hands on her knees, her legs crossed.
“There we are,” George said, with false heartiness. “Let’s have a drink. I’m hungry, too, aren’t you?”
“A bit,” she said, looking at him as she might look at some strange animal at the Zoo.
“Have the armchair,” George went on, busying himself with the drinks “It’s jolly comfortable, although it looks a bit of a mess.”
“It’s all right,” she said. “I like beds.”