But," she clinched it notwithstanding, and rather quickly, "will you take me to see Miss Cardiff?
I mean," she added, noting his look of consternation, "will you ask her if I may come?
I forget--we are in London." At this moment the boy from below-stairs knocked with tea and cakes, little Italian cakes in iced jackets and paper boats.

"Yes, certainly--yes, I will," said Kendal, staring at the tray, and trying to remember when he had ordered it; "but it's your plain duty to make us both some tea, and to eat as many of these pink-and-white things as you possibly can.

They seem to have come down from heaven for you." They ate and drank and talked and were merry for quite twenty minutes.

Elfrida opened her notebook and threatened absurdities of detail for publication in the _Age_; he defied her, tilted his chair back, put his feet on a packing-box, and smoked a cigarette.

He placed all the studies he had made after she left Paris before her, and as she finished the last but one of the Italian cakes, they discussed these in the few words from which they both drew such large and satisfying meanings as do not lie at all in the vocabulary of outsiders.