One doesn't want cushions to be
comfortable, one wants surroundings. These are perfect."
He looked at her with appreciation; then, as a thought swept over
him, it altered to an expression of tenderness. He put his heel on
that, churned it round, and strode over to the fireplace.
"Here, come and sit down here and get warm while I make the coffee,"
he said. "It's frightfully cold outside, you know. I shouldn't wonder
if it isn't freezing."
She followed obediently, and took the chair he had drawn out for her.
Then he hurried about, opening cupboards and drawers, producing a
saucepan here, a coffee-pot and a milk-can there, until all the
things were laid on the table. And all this time, while she made sure
that she was not being observed, Sally's eyes wandered backwards and
forwards to the little miniature. She was nearer to it now and could
more clearly distinguish the features. They reminded her somewhat
of herself. There were the same round cheeks, the same small
childishness of lips and nose and chin, the same pale complexion
tinged with fragile pink, the same big, blue eyes. Had he taken an
interest in her because she was like this girl, this girl whose
miniature he had allowed to be the only breaking note in the whole
symphony of his scheme of decoration? They were like each other, a
likeness sufficiently apparent to suggest the thought to her mind.
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