"Miss Sharp must lunch with me"—I said.
Burton coughed as he answered.
"Very good, Sir Nicholas."
That meant that he did not approve of this arrangement—why?—Really these old servants are unsupportable.
The antediluvian waiters come in to lay the table presently, and I ordered peaches and grapes and some very special chablis—I felt exultant at my having manoeuvred that Miss Sharp should eat with me!
She came in when all was ready with her usual serene calm—and took her place at right angles to me.
Her hands are not nearly so red to-day, and their movements when she began to eat pleased me—her wrists are tiny, and everything she does is dainty.
She did not peck her food like a bird, as very slight people sometimes do—and she was entirely at ease—it was I who was nervous—.
"Won't you take off your glasses," I suggested—but she declined—.
"Of what use—I can see with them on."