“What's the matter with you?” she demanded.
“Nothing,” he replied.
“You ordered them, didn't you? Ain't you eating anything?”
“I'm not hungry,” he said.
She continued eating awhile without comment. And he watched her as one fascinated, oblivious to his surroundings, in a turmoil of thought and emotion.
“I'm dry,” she announced meaningly.
He hesitated a moment, and then gave her the bottle of beer. She made a wry face as she poured it out.
“Have they run out of champagne?” she inquired.
This time he did not hesitate. The women of his acquaintance, at the dinner parties he attended, drank champagne. Why should he refuse it to this woman? A long-nosed, mediaeval-looking waiter was hovering about, one of those bizarre, battered creatures who have long exhausted the surprises of life, presiding over this amazing situation with all the sang froid of a family butler. Hodder told him to bring champagne.
“What kind, sir?” he asked, holding out a card.