The kettle was boiling, and he had already warmed the pot. He measured out the tea carefully, poured the water onto it, and gave her a blue china cup. He produced an old biscuit-tin containing some French pastry, and then sat on the floor while she consumed the lot. It gave him great pleasure to see her eat, and he liked her healthy, childish greed. She had the face of a spoiled child, a very soft skin, and plump, yielding flesh. He liked that. It soothed and comforted him to look at her, while at the same time he was irritated by her inward plumpness and easiness. "You've always had a good time," he said. "Oh yes! I've seen to that." "You're not a London girl." "No; Yorkshire." "I'm from Lancashire." "Eeh! lad," she said, her whole voice altering and deepening into an astonishingly full note, "are ye fra' Lancashire? Eeh! a'm fair clemmed wi' London. Eeh! I am glad ye coom fra' Lancashire." "What are you doing in London?" "I'm working in Oxford Street, though not one of the big shops." "Like it?" "M'm! Well enough." "Of course you don't, handing out laces and ribbons----" "'Tisn't laces and ribbons. It's corsets." "Corsets, then, to women who haven't a tenth of your looks or your vitality." "It can't be helped if they have the money and I haven't, can it?" "Money doesn't matter. What's money to you, with all the rich life in you? Money cannot buy that, nor can it buy what will satisfy you." "And what's that?" "Love and freedom." "Ooh! you are a talker." "I'm not flirting with you. I haven't got time for that." He laid his hand on her foot, which was covered with a thin cotton stocking. She did not move it. "You needn't stare at me like that," she said, with a curious thickness in her voice. "I can't help staring," he answered, "when I mean what I say." He pressed his lips together and scowled, and shook her foot playfully. There was an exhilarating pleasure in startling and mastering her by directness. It was like peeling the bark off a stick. The thin layers of affectation came off easily and cleanly, leaving bare the white sappy smoothness of her innocent sensuality. "I do mean what I say," he added. "Why should we beat about the bush? I asked you to come to-day because I wanted you. You came because you knew I wanted you." "You asked me to tea." "All right. And you'll stay to dinner. People have made love to you before." "Well, no . . . yes. . . . Not like . . ." "Don't tell lies," he said. "You saw me at the station long before I saw you, and you wanted me to see you. That was why you stayed at the booking-office." "You were with such a pretty boy," she said. "Boy! You're not old enough to care for pretty boys." "But he _was_ pretty." "Be quiet!" he said, kneeling by her side. "You may want me to take weeks over making all sorts of foolish advances to you, but I'm not going to waste time. I've wasted too much time over that sort of rubbish. We both know what we want and you are going to stay with me."