It was all the same to her.

She didn't really want anything.

Hennie whispered, "Chocolate!" But just as the waitress turned away she cried out carelessly, "Oh, you may as well bring me a chocolate, too." While we waited she took out a little, gold powder-box with a mirror in the lid, shook the poor little puff as though she loathed it, and dabbed her lovely nose.
"Hennie," she said, "take those flowers away." She pointed with her puff to the carnations, and I heard her murmur, "I can't bear flowers on a table." They had evidently been giving her intense pain, for she positively closed her eyes as I moved them away.
The waitress came back with the chocolate and the tea.

She put the big, frothing cups before them and pushed across my clear glass.

Hennie buried his nose, emerged, with, for one dreadful moment, a little trembling blob of cream on the tip.