But that took a whole cake to consider. Even then, “Oh well, that depends!” was all she could safely say.
Hennie had finished. He was still very warm.
I seized the butterfly list off the table. “I say—what about an ice, Hennie? What about tangerine and ginger? No, something cooler. What about a fresh pineapple cream?”
Hennie strongly approved. The waitress had her eye on us. The order was taken when she looked up from her crumbs.
“Did you say tangerine and ginger? I like ginger. You can bring me one.” And then quickly, “I wish that orchestra wouldn’t play things from the year One. We were dancing to that all last Christmas. It’s too sickening!”
But it was a charming air. Now that I noticed it, it warmed me.
“I think this is rather a nice place, don’t you, Hennie?” I said.
Hennie said: “Ripping!” He meant to say it very low, but it came out very high in a kind of squeak.
Nice? This place? Nice? For the first time she stared about her, trying to see what there was.... She blinked; her lovely eyes wondered. A very good-looking elderly man stared back at her through a monocle on a black ribbon. But him she simply couldn’t see. There was a hole in the air where he was. She looked through and through him.
Finally the little flat spoons lay still on the glass plates. Hennie looked rather exhausted, but she pulled on her white gloves again. She had some trouble with her diamond wrist-watch; it got in her way. She tugged at it—tried to break the stupid little thing—it wouldn’t break. Finally, she had to drag her glove over. I saw, after that, she couldn’t stand this place a moment longer, and, indeed, she jumped up and turned away while I went through the vulgar act of paying for the tea.