"Well?" she said, as if she had been waiting for him to speak.
"I'll say it again—you're beautiful," he said.
The same half credulous look that she had given him when he told her she was beautiful that day they met for the first time at the Barton Randolph lawn fete came into her eyes.
"I did not mean to ask you that," she said.
"I know," he returned, "but you are, and I couldn't help saying so."
She took a chair near the tea-table and he seated himself in the chair that was opposite to her.
"I meant, what do you think of me now?" she explained, pouring the tea into absurdly small cups, one of which she handed to him.
"It was a surprise," he said. "I'll confess to you now that you puzzled me. I could not understand why you were—well, exiled in the city during the week. I imagined you were either with friends as a sort of a permanent guest or studying."
"You never thought of me as working?" she asked.