She shook her head, still smiling.
“Oh, no, I was merely thinking what a mixture of sullen boy and embittered cynic you are. Do you know you are a very odd person, indeed?”
He looked at once flattered and woebegone.
“I suppose it’s this damned forcing-house I’ve lived in.” He muttered as he sliced the bread rather clumsily, with his most unclumsy-looking hands. “Limelight doesn’t mellow, it scorches!” Then as he met her astonished gaze, he checked himself abruptly. “Bread and butter and cigarettes are all I can offer, unless the storm has whetted you sufficiently for bacon and eggs?”
She laughed a denial, and springing up, lifted the chuckling kettle off the hearth. The boy hurried to her assistance and their flesh met over the handle.
“So you’re a celebrity?” she thrust at him, as he took the kettle from her and placed it on a table. Beneath her scrutiny his features again became a mask, except for the eyes, which gleamed liquid in the firelight.
“You flatter me,” he laughed with forced lightness. “Must I decrease my importance and the romance of the occasion by revealing my humble identity?”
“No indeed!” exclaimed Anne, “that would spoil everything.”
But the odd little speech about the limelight had challenged her curiosity, and as she continued to observe him, that strange sense of familiarity which the first impression of his face had given, insinuated itself into her consciousness more securely.
“No,” she murmured without an appreciable pause. “Let’s just be two stray cats crawling into shelter from the rain.”