“There is a lady walking about,” the man said. “I don’t know as she ’as ordered tea. She’s been here some time, seems to be waiting for some one.”
“Oh! we don’t want any one but ourselves,” Margaret exclaimed, still with that breathless strange agitation.
“I’ll see to that, milady.” He touched his cap.
When they walked down the path to where, on the terrace overlooking the sea, the iron table and two chairs awaited them, Margaret said reminiscently:
“I sat and waited for you here whilst you saw your room, washed your hands....”
“And today I cannot leave you even to wash my hands.”
The deep tenderness in his voice penetrated, shook her heart. He remembered what they had for tea last time, and ordered it again when the waiter came to them: Strawberry jam in a little glass dish, clotted cream, brown and white bread and butter. “The sea is calmer than it was on that day,” he said when the waiter went to execute the order.
“The sky is not less blue,” Margaret answered, and it seemed as if they were talking in symbols.
“How wonderful it all is!” That was his exclamation, not hers. She was unusually silent, but was glad of the tea when it came, ministering to him and spreading the jam on the bread and butter.
“Let me do it.”