Stephen said: ‘Yes—oh, yes—’ Then fell silent again, apparently intent on the carpet. ‘Have I dropped my cigarette ash or something?’ inquired her hostess, whose mouth twitched a little. ‘I don’t think so,’ murmured Stephen, pretending to look, then glancing up sideways at the impudent bullfinch. The bullfinch was now being sentimental; he piped very low and with great expression. ‘O, Tannebaum, O, Tannebaum, wie grün sind Deine Blätter’ he piped, hopping rather heavily from perch to perch, with one beady black orb fixed on Stephen. Then Angela said: ‘It’s a curious thing, but I feel as though I’ve known you for ages. I don’t want to behave as though we were strangers—do you think that’s very American of me? Ought I to be formal and stand-offish and British? I will if you say so, but I don’t feel British.’ And her voice, although quite steady and grave, was somehow distinctly suggestive of laughter. Stephen lifted troubled eyes to her face: ‘I want very much to be your friend if you’ll have me,’ she said; and then she flushed deeply. Angela held out her undamaged hand which Stephen took, but in great trepidation. Barely had it lain in her own for a moment, when she clumsily gave it back to its owner. Then Angela looked at her hand. Stephen thought: ‘Have I done something rude or awkward?’ And her heart thumped thickly against her side. She wanted to retrieve the lost hand and stroke it, but unfortunately it was now stroking Tony. She sighed, and Angela, hearing that sigh, glanced up, as though in inquiry. The butler arrived bringing in the tea. ‘Sugar?’ asked Angela. ‘No, thanks,’ said Stephen; then she suddenly changed her mind, ‘three lumps, please,’ she had always detested tea without sugar. The tea was too hot; it burnt her mouth badly. She grew scarlet and her eyes began to water. To cover her confusion she swallowed more tea, while Angela looked tactfully out of the window. But when she considered it safe to turn round, her expression, although still faintly amused, had something about it that was tender. And now she exerted all her subtlety and skill to make this queer guest of hers talk more freely, and Angela’s subtlety was no mean thing, neither was her skill if she chose to exert it. Very gradually the girl became more at her ease; it was up-hill work but Angela triumphed, so that in the end Stephen talked about Morton, and a very little about herself also. And somehow, although Stephen appeared to be talking, she found that she was learning many things about her hostess; for instance, she learnt that Angela was lonely and very badly in need of her friendship. Most of Angela’s troubles seemed to centre round Ralph, who was not always kind and seldom agreeable. Remembering Ralph she could well believe this, and she said: ‘I don’t think your husband liked me.’ Angela sighed: ‘Very probably not. Ralph never likes the people I do; he objects to my friends on principle I think.’