“You’re getting at me.”
He gave a little shout of joy. He was so happy. But Mildred didn’t like being laughed at.
“I don’t see anything funny in telling lies.”
“Don’t be cross.”
He took her hand, which was lying on the table, and pressed it gently.
“You are lovely, and I could kiss the ground you walk on,” he said.
The greenish pallor of her skin intoxicated him, and her thin white lips had an extraordinary fascination. Her anaemia made her rather short of breath, and she held her mouth slightly open. It seemed to add somehow to the attractiveness of her face.
“You do like me a bit, don’t you?” he asked.
“Well, if I didn’t I suppose I shouldn’t be here, should I? You’re a gentleman in every sense of the word, I will say that for you.”
They had finished their dinner and were drinking coffee. Philip, throwing economy to the winds, smoked a three-penny cigar.