"I do. Oh, and you've got eclairs! How delicious; I love them."
"I remembered that you did at the school-treat last August."
"That terrible day! Do you remember how Mrs. Thornton would have lunch at our table? Look—there she is. I do hope she doesn't see you. She's sure to come over if she does. ''Ow do you do, Mr. Paul, and 'ow do you like Cambridge? We're glad to see you back, I'm sure.'"
Paul sat down deliberately in such a position that he could see Edith. "Don't, Madeline," he said. "She's a thoroughly good sort really, and means well."
"Paul, you know perfectly well you used to laugh at her as much as any of us."
"Did I? Then I was wrong. I'm beginning to see that the world is full of queer sorts of people, and that the only real test is their sincerity."
"Well, then, some sincere people are impossible. You know they are. At any rate I'm sincere enough to tell you that I think so."
Ethel Cator came up to them. She was a brunette, tall and thin, and in a cap and apron she looked pretty. She was one of Madeline's friends. "Hullo, Madeline," she said. "How are you two getting on? Have some more tea?"
"My dear, aren't you worn out with this tea business? Can't I give you a hand? It's a slack time at the stall."
"Oh no. It's all right. But it's our busy time, of course. Have some more eclairs. We're running a bit short, but I can get some for you."