'Was it by accident that you were in that shop?'
'Oh, no,' said she. 'The old man is a friend of mine.'
(He noticed that she said 'the old' and not as most people did 'the yold.' It was this perfection in her that made her so incredible. To the very finest detail she was perfect and he knew not whether to laugh or to weep.)
'It is absurd,' he said in his heart, 'it can't happen like this. It can't be true.'
Clara had no thought of anything but to make him open up his mind and heart to her, most easily and painlessly to break the taut strain in him.
They turned into a tea-shop in Coventry Street, and he sat glowering at her. A small orchestra was crashing out a syncopated tune. The place was full of suburban people enjoying their escape into a vulgar excitement provided for them by the philanthropy of Joseph Lyons. The room was all gilt and marble and plentiful electric light. A waitress came up to them, but Rodd was so intent upon Clara that he could not collect his thoughts, and she had to order tea.
'Who are you?' he asked.
'I am an actress at the Imperium.'
He flung back his head and gave a shout of laughter.
'Is it funny?' she asked.