“Won’t you also, Mademoiselle, have a bit of coffee? It’s a long way to breakfast.”
Yet, as I said this, I had a sudden weak feeling of intruding, and I looked away from her for fear she would read beneath the studied impersonality of my tone. Behind the veil, I felt a moment of hesitation.
“If you will hold the bottle, I will get some clean glasses.”
When I returned, I brought a box of crackers, taking the precaution to offer them along the way. This action evidently disarmed her prejudices, for she had drawn her veil when I came to her chair. I poured a full glass.
“But you, Monsieur?”
“Oh, I’ve had my cup, below. Take it—you need it. I’m afraid you had a bad night.”
She took the glass but made no answer. When I referred to the night, her gray-eyed glance rose to my face, rested a furtive moment in thoughtful inquiry, and retreated; but the moment was not one of embarrassment or hesitation, but rather of a settled attitude of aloofness.
“There is just a little more.”
“Some one else, then.”