“Hulloh child!”
“What you having?” she asked sitting down opposite to them. The empty white table-cloth shone under a brilliant incandescent light; far away down the vista the door opened on the daylit street.
“Isn’t it a glorious Spring evening?” Spring? It was, of course. Everyone had been saying the spring would never come, but to-day it was very warm. Spring was here of course. Perspiring in a dusty cycling school and sitting in a hot restaurant was not spring. Spring was somewhere far away. Going to stay and talk in people’s houses did not bring Spring—landscapes belonging to people were painted; you must be alone ... or perhaps at the Brooms. Perhaps next week-end at the Brooms would be in time for the spring; in their back garden, the watered green lawn and the sweetbriar and the distant trees in the large garden beyond the fence. In London it was better not to think about the times of year.
But Mag seemed to find Spring in London. Her face was all glowing with the sense of it.
“What you having?”
“Have you observed with what a remarkable brilliance the tender green shines out against the soot-black branches?” Yes, that was wonderful but what was the joke?
“Every spring I have spent in Lonndonn I have heard that remark at least fifty times.”
Miriam laughed politely. “Jan, what have you ordered?”
“We’ve ordered beef my child, cold beefs and salads.”
“Do you think I should like salad?”