Woolf could not help being impressed with her appearance. He could not deny that she was really exceedingly pretty. Her features were quite perfect—white brow, small straight nose, well-shaped mouth. He saw all this at a glance, the cool, scrutinizing glance of valuation with which he favored every attractive member of her sex, whether a duchess in her carriage in Bond Street or a shop-girl on her way to work.
Maggy introduced her friend and her lover with mutual pride. The tone in which she did it left no doubt that what she would have loved to say was:
"This is Lexie. Isn't she lovely? You know she is;" and then with a certain dubiousness: "My Fred.... Do like him. Surely you must think him handsome."
"Delighted to meet any friend of Maggy's," said Woolf cordially. "Been a long time coming round, haven't you?"
Alexandra instantly resented the unnecessary familiarity he put into his tone, but for Maggy's sake she refrained from showing it. Woolf was no better and no worse than she had expected to find him. He was merely vulgar, from the salmon-pink handkerchief in his breast-pocket to the too-valuable pin in his tie.
"I came as soon as I was asked," she answered equably. "Maggy and I are old friends. There's no reason why I should keep away from her."
"Of course, there isn't. Only Maggy thought you didn't approve of—this little show." He waved his arm round the room.
"It's a dear little flat. I like it very much."
Woolf laughed loudly. "The flat's all right. Perhaps I should have said our little ménage à deux. There's no harm in it. Everybody's doing it, aren't they, Maggy? Come along to lunch, you girls."
If Alexandra could have run away then and there she would have done so. She guessed what she was in for. Maggy was looking nervous. She wanted Alexandra and Fred to "get on," to like each other. She had done her best to make her lover avoid the sort of conversation Alexandra would not like. She was dreadfully afraid he was going to spoil it all.