An expression of relief thawed his frozen young face.
“But the Persian must not be shocked if the alley-cat does not know how to behave and laps up his milk rudely.” He laughed as he poured out her tea, and handed her the bread and butter. For the moment he looked almost happy, altogether boyish. He seated himself on the other side of the table, and gazed into the fire, which crackled up into their faces with the officiousness of an elderly chaperon. Its self-conscious sputter neutralized the clamor of the rain and somehow pleased him.
“How elemental,” he threw out his hands in an expressive gesture. “A storm, a fire, and a cave,” he looked about the shadowy room whimsically. “A man and a woman—food—. We might be in the Stone Age.” His cynical gaze probed her.
Anne’s laugh was a rippling murmur.
“A moment ago we were cats. Our evolution has been rapid!”
She pushed aside her chair, rose, and walking quickly to the window, peered through the crooked panes, at the dusky woods beyond.
“The rain is letting up,” she announced briefly. “I must go home, or Regina will worry herself into a fever.”
His somber laugh rang harshly. “So you prefer cats to cavemen?” He joined her in a couple of lazy strides. “That isn’t at all up to date! May I inquire who is Regina, and still preserve our charming incognito?”
“She is my Italian maid. We are alone here this fall and she will be wild if I don’t hurry. She has been with me since I was a child and I’m scarcely allowed to breathe without her permission,” she replied rather more expansively than she had intended.
“Well, if you must!” he shrugged. “I suppose I ought to say something romantic about ‘ships that pass in the night,’ etc. But as I am a misogynist”—he hesitated, looking at her with a sarcastic smile.