Cristel and I noticed this. He saw
it, and at once gratified our curiosity.
"It is a rule," he said, "with masters in the art of making tea, that one
infusion ought never to be used twice. If we want any more, we will make
more; and if you feel inclined to join us, Miss Cristel, we will fill the
third cup."
What was there in this (I wondered) to make her turn pale? And why, after
what he had just said, did I see her eyes willingly rest on him, for the
first time in my experience? Entirely at a loss to understand her, I
resignedly stirred my tea. On the point of tasting it next, felt her hand
on my knee, under the table.
Bewildered as I was, I obeyed my instructions, and went on stirring my
tea. Our host smiled.
"Your sugar takes a long time to melt," he said--and drank his tea. As he
emptied the cup, the touch was taken off me. I followed his example.
In spite of his boasting, the tea was the worst I ever tasted. I should
have thrown it out of the window, if they had offered us such nasty stuff
at Trimley Deen. When I set down my cup, he asked facetiously if I wished
him to brew any more. My negative answer was a masterpiece of strong
expression, in the language of signs.
Instead of sending for Gloody to clear the table, he moved away the
objects near him, so as to leave an empty space at his disposal.
"I ought perhaps to have hesitated, before I asked you to spend the
evening with me," he said, speaking with a gentleness and amiability of
manner, strongly in contrast with his behavior up to this time.
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