“Even for another?” he said.
Daphne Wing answered calmly:
“I wish you would treat me like a lady.”
Fiorsen bit his lip, and bowed.
“May I have the pleasure of giving you some tea?”
“Yes, thank you; I'm very hungry. I don't eat lunch on matinee-days; I find it better not. Do you like my Ophelia dance?”
“It's artificial.”
“Yes, it IS artificial—it's done with mirrors and wire netting, you know. But do I give you the illusion of being mad?” Fiorsen nodded. “I'm so glad. Shall we go? I do want my tea.”
She turned round, scrutinized herself in the glass, touched her hat with both hands, revealing, for a second, all the poised beauty of her figure, took a little bag from the back of a chair, and said:
“I think, if you don't mind going on, it's less conspicuous. I'll meet you at Ruffel's—they have lovely things there. Au revoir.”