Here a fat waiter interposed with a dish, and Avery had time to recover himself. Meanwhile, Jenny regarded him. She liked his fresh complexion and deep-blue eyes. She liked better still his weak, girlish mouth and white teeth. She liked best of all his manner, which was not too easy, although it carried some of the confidence of popularity.
"Whatever made you come on the first night? I think the ballet's rotten on the first night," said Jenny.
"I'm awfully glad I did. But, as a matter of fact, I had to. I'm a critic. I'm going to write a notice of the ballet for the Point of View."
Something in the intonation of this announcement would have warned anybody of the world that Avery's judgment had not long ago been demanded for the first time.
"A reporter?" asked Jenny.
"Well, a sort of reporter."
"You don't look much like a reporter. I knew a reporter once who was going to photograph me in a bathing-dress for Fluffy Bits. But his flat was too high up for this little girl."
Maurice Avery wished that Jenny were alone. He would in that case have attempted to explain the difference between a reporter and a dramatic critic. Under the circumstances, however, he felt that the subject should be dropped, and turned politely to Irene.
"You're not talking much."
"Ah, but I think the more."