Mrs. Cobbold looked or rather glared at me over the top of her glasses. I was relieved when Amelia appeared with tea. I even forgave her for her tea-rose slippers, which in her excitement she had omitted to change. Casually I inspected the three-decker bread and butter and cake-stand. I felt sure that Amelia would have upheld the honour and glory of the family by "doing" the thing nicely. The first plate was beyond reproach, nicely-cut bread and butter reposing on best netted d'oyley. Mrs. Cobbold's parlour-maid could have done no better. But the second plate made me pause. What was it? I rubbed my eyes. Did I see a lonely macaroon garnished by a ring of radishes—pointed red, fibrous radishes, with long green tops—arranged with a mathematical precision, or did I not? I leaned forward for a closer inspection—perhaps they were chocolate radishes or almond radishes. My breath came quickly, and a jet butterfly smote me on the forehead—Mrs. Cobbold had also leaned forward. The butterfly hurt me. That I didn't mind. What I did object to was Mrs. Cobbold's impertinent curiosity. If we chose to garnish a macaroon with radishes it was none of her business.
"Won't you change your mind and have some tea?" I said, recovering myself. "Macaroons and radishes are so nice together—a German tea delicacy." I nibbled the end of one of the radishes as I spoke, and found it so hot my eyes watered.
"No, thank you," she almost snorted. "Are you German?"
"Oh, no," I replied, "I am quite English with just a few foreign tastes." I covertly dropped the radish down the side of the couch as I spoke.
"Where were you born?"
"I was born in Dorking, I mean Westmoreland," I said wanderingly. I was debating as to what had come over Amelia.
"So you are north-country really?" Her voice was patronising.
"Yes," I returned, "isn't it interesting?"
She again regarded me with suspicion.
"North-country people are becoming quite rare. Perhaps you have noticed it? Everybody comes from the south."