"Here I am, Claude," she laughed over his shoulder.
"Oh, I am glad you've come," he said.
"Irene couldn't come. She's ill. Shame, isn't it?"
"Really," said Maurice, trying to seem concerned. "Let's go and have tea."
"Oh, you unnatural man. Aren't you sorry she's ill?"
"I can't be sorry you're alone. Where shall we have tea?"
"Where you like."
"I know a funny little shop off Soho Square where there aren't many people."
"Don't you like people, then?"
"Not always."