‘I do everything on a system,’ remarked Edward in a rather satisfied tone; but Sheila only laughed at his labels.
‘I could never read here,’ she said. ‘I should put a ticket on myself and stand in the corner all day. What a dreadfully orderly room!’
‘Don’t you like it?’ There was disappointment in his tone.
‘Yes, very much. It is little and quiet and studious. There’s no cabbage pattern on the wall and no Jorrocks pictures. There are no pictures of podgy children stroking big dogs, and no family photographs.... I’m sure that gentleman over there isn’t in the family.’ She pointed to a photograph of a Greek statue.
‘No, that’s Euripides. And yet there’s something about the room that you don’t like. What is it?’
‘Well, you do everything on a system, you said. I think that’s what’s wrong. You’ve done this room on a system. Ars est celare artem. Isn’t it the same with systems?’
‘Do you read Horace much?’ he enquired.
‘Not at all,’ confessed Sheila. ‘I found that tag at the end of a dictionary.’
He laughed. ‘You’re delightfully honest.’
A shaft of sunlight falling on his face made visible the little downy hairs over his cheekbones. Sheila caught her eyes involuntarily looking at them.