She went off into peals of laughter, and he laughed too.
“It’s such a jolly day,” he said. “It only needed you to come to make everything perfect.”
“What made you speak to me the other night?” she asked.
“I liked the look of you.”
“But I’m not that sort, you know.”
“It isn’t a question of being that sort. I wanted to speak to you, and that was enough for me. Sit down and have some tea.”
The kettle was boiling, and he had already warmed the pot. He measured out the tea carefully, poured the water onto it, and gave her a blue china cup. He produced an old biscuit-tin containing some French pastry, and then sat on the floor while she consumed the lot.
It gave him great pleasure to see her eat, and he liked her healthy, childish greed. She had the face of a spoiled child, a very soft skin, and plump, yielding flesh. He liked that. It soothed and comforted him to look at her, while at the same time he was irritated by her inward plumpness and easiness.
“You’ve always had a good time,” he said.
“Oh yes! I’ve seen to that.”