He offered them to Hennie. Hennie gave me a swift look—it must have been satisfactory—for he took a chocolate cream, a coffee éclair, a meringue stuffed with chestnut and a tiny horn filled with fresh strawberries. She could hardly bear to watch him. But just as the boy swerved away she held up her plate. “Oh well, give me _one_,” said she. The silver tongs dropped one, two, three—and a cherry tartlet. “I don’t know why you’re giving me all these,” she said, and nearly smiled. “I shan’t eat them; I couldn’t!” I felt much more comfortable. I sipped my tea, leaned back, and even asked if I might smoke. At that she paused, the fork in her hand, opened her eyes, and really did smile. “Of course,” said she. “I always expect people to.” But at that moment a tragedy happened to Hennie. He speared his pastry horn too hard, and it flew in two, and one half spilled on the table. Ghastly affair! He turned crimson. Even his ears flared, and one ashamed hand crept across the table to take what was left of the body away. “You _utter_ little beast!” said she. Good heavens! I had to fly to the rescue. I cried hastily, “Will you be abroad long?” But she had already forgotten Hennie. I was forgotten, too. She was trying to remember something.... She was miles away. “I—don’t—know,” she said slowly, from that far place. “I suppose you prefer it to London. It’s more—more—” When I didn’t go on she came back and looked at me, very puzzled. “More—?” “_Enfin_—gayer,” I cried, waving my cigarette. But that took a whole cake to consider. Even then, “Oh well, that depends!” was all she could safely say. Hennie had finished. He was still very warm. I seized the butterfly list off the table. “I say—what about an ice, Hennie? What about tangerine and ginger? No, something cooler. What about a fresh pineapple cream?” Hennie strongly approved. The waitress had her eye on us. The order was taken when she looked up from her crumbs. “Did you say tangerine and ginger? I like ginger. You can bring me one.” And then quickly, “I wish that orchestra wouldn’t play things from the year One. We were dancing to that all last Christmas. It’s too sickening!” But it was a charming air. Now that I noticed it, it warmed me. “I think this is rather a nice place, don’t you, Hennie?” I said. Hennie said: “Ripping!” He meant to say it very low, but it came out very high in a kind of squeak. Nice? This place? Nice? For the first time she stared about her, trying to see what there was.... She blinked; her lovely eyes wondered. A very good-looking elderly man stared back at her through a monocle on a black ribbon. But him she simply couldn’t see. There was a hole in the air where he was. She looked through and through him.