She set the two cups on the table, there were only two.
"Will you have a cup of tea?" she said.
"If you like. Sugar's in th' cupboard, an' there's a little cream-jug. Milk's in a jug in th' pantry."
"Shall I take your plate away?" she asked him. He looked up at her with a faint ironical smile.
"Why ... if you like," he said, slowly eating bread and cheese. She went to the back, into the penthouse scullery, where the pump was. On the left was a door, no doubt the pantry door. She unlatched it, and almost smiled at the place he called a pantry; a long narrow whitewashed slip of a cupboard. But it managed to contain a little barrel of beer, as well as a few dishes and bits of food. She took a little milk from the yellow jug.
"How do you get your milk?" she asked him, when she came back to the table.
"Flints! They leave me a bottle at the warren end. You know, where I met you!"
But he was discouraged.
She poured out the tea, poising the cream-jug.
"No milk," he said; then he seemed to hear a noise, and looked keenly through the doorway.