Читать книгу White Magic. A Novel онлайн

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She brushed her hand over her eyes, stared at him again, this time a little wildly. His expression—the kind eyes, the mouth with no suggestion of cruelty or guile, the smile of friendliness without familiarity—reassured her straightway. A merry smile drifted over her features—charming, pretty features, though not beautiful. “You know I detest tea,” said she. “Besides, I’m hungry.”

“I’ve made enough for two large cups apiece,” he assured her. “But I had only condensed milk. It’s hard to get the other kind in the country.”

She took the cup into which he poured first, tasted it. “Splendid!” she ejaculated.

“I’ve been famous for my chocolate for years,” said he complacently.

“If you weren’t so vain!”

“Everybody’s vain. I have the courage to speak out.”

“I’m not vain,” replied she. “If I were I should be embarrassed at your catching me like this.” And she glanced down at her wrinkled and mussy attire.

“Possibly you are so vain that you don’t care,” rejoined he. “You said you were hungry, yet you haven’t tried the biscuit.”