"It's historic, but not exactly a handsome garment," she said, shaking the tea caddy.
"You shake the caddy when you can't hit the ball: new rule of golf." He had buttoned his ulster to the chin, and really intended to go. She poured the steaming water into the tea-pot, and walked to the fire with folded arms, shivering.
"Of course, if you prefer your uniform!" She spread her hands to the flames. Her mood was new to him; he felt suddenly that he knew her better than ever before; and this having occurred to him as he stood watching her, he accused himself instantly. He had no right to be there; no one had any right to be there but Warry Raridan! She had turned swiftly and was smiling at him. The darkness had fallen suddenly outside. The maid went about closing blinds and turning on the lights. He felt, by anticipation, the loneliness that lay for him beyond the soft glow of this room. This was, after all, only a moment's respite.
Evelyn was back at the tea table. She held a lump of sugar poised above a cup, and looked at him inquiringly, as though of course he was staying and wished his tea. He unbuttoned the coat and threw it on a chair.
"One lump, thanks!"
"It was the sandwiches that did it, I'm sure," she said, passing him a plate of bread and butter.
"I should like to refute your statement, but candor compels me to admit its truth," he answered. "I just happen to remember that I haven't had luncheon yet. Excuse me if I take two."
She went to the wall and pushed a button.
"You're a foolish person and I'm going to punish you. Father's beef tea is ready day and night, and"—she said to the Swedish maid,—"bring some more hot water and the decanter."
"J'y suis; j'y reste. I think I have died and gone to Heaven."