‘Roddy!’
He stood before her and looked down into her face.
‘I thought I was never going to see you again, Judy. You’re looking marvellous.’
He was going to be irresistible. Already something in her was starting to leap up in response to him; and watching his face, she saw with a terrible pang that it was true, unarguable, proved over again more clearly than ever, that he had some quality which separated him from everybody else in the whole world, startled the imagination and made him of appalling significance to her.
‘I’m cold. Thank God for a good fire. It’s starting to snow.’ He flung himself down on the hearth-rug. ‘Trust Martin to make a good thick atmosphere with no beastly fresh air about it. Tea! Tea! Tea! Let me make you some toast, Judy. I make it so well.’
While he toasted great hunks of bread, Martin buttered scones and cut the cake, and Judith poured out tea.
They chattered, joked, teased each other. They played absurd drawing and rhyming games. Judith made them laugh with malicious stories of dons and students. Roddy threw back his head, his whole face wrinkled and flattened with silent laughter, his eyes gleaming with amusement under their lids. Martin stared, laughed, Ha! Ha!—stared again. They encouraged her, listened to her, were delighted with her; and the old sense of abnormal self-assurance grew within her taut mind.
At last she made herself look at the clock. So late! There would barely be time to get back before Hall.
‘I’ve got a car outside,’ said Roddy carelessly. ‘I can run you out in no time.’
He added, interrupting her thanks: