The contentious conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Woolf's man announcing lunch. They went into the dining room. Maggy was hungry and did justice to an excellent meal. But she refused to drink anything stronger than lemon squash, and when Woolf pressed her for her reason for such abstinence she gave him none. She had seen her mother suffer from alcoholic excess. The smell of spirits always turned her sick.
When they were alone Woolf leant towards her.
"Now let's talk," he said. "What do you want me to do for you?"
"Nothing," replied Maggy shortly.
"Do you dislike me?"
She looked at him and away again.
"No. That doesn't mean you're fascinating. You're the sort of man who might get round a girl like me if I was fool enough to listen to you. Lexie—that's my chum—would tell you off at once."
"I should think she's a man-hater." Woolf was beginning to feel a distinct antipathy towards Maggy's friend.
"No, she isn't. Only men aren't much in our line. You can see prowling beasts without going to the Zoo."
Maggy's conversational trick of generalizing led away from the point Woolf wanted to press.