She sighed hopelessly and opened her eyes.
"Had a doze? Good! Tea's ready! I expect you want it," said Roger cheerfully.
She was surprised into normality, and began to smile as she looked about her.
The rickety table had been covered by a gay, chequered cloth. There was crockery, and a little green tea-pot, and a pile of short-bread at her elbow. A spirit-lamp and kettle were shelved incongruously between trays of daffodils.
Roger sat upon an upturned flower-pot, and beamed at her.
"Oh, how jolly!" cried Alwynne, the Alwynne once more of his former acquaintance. "Where did it come from?"
He showed her a cupboard against the wall, half hidden by a canopy of smilax.
"I always keep stores here," he confessed boyishly. "I used to when I was a kid. This is the old glass-house, you know, on Great House land. I've built all the others. I used to be Robinson Crusoe then, and now it's useful, when I'm busy, not to have to go up to the house always. Won't you pour out?"
Alwynne flashed a look at him.
"I don't believe it's that. You enjoy the—the marooning still. I should. I think it's perfectly delightful here."