ford's left; then, putting upon it the tray, he quietly withdrew.
Yes, coffee would be good on a night like this, Beresford decided as he turned to the tray, where, to his surprise, he found two cups.
"What the" then he suddenly realised that his late companion at dinner, who was not a companion at all, was probably also taking coffee in the smoking-room. Here was a fine point of etiquette, he decided. There was nothing for it but to wait. He was curious to see if this linking together of their coffees would cause her to unbend. Fate was taking a hand in the affair.
It was obviously impossible to pour out his own coffee and leave her the remainder. Should he ring for the waiter? No, the coffee should act as master of the ceremonies and bridge the gulf between them. Placing the coffee-pot and the milk-jug on the hearth, he waited, substituting a cigarette for his briar, lest its rich, juicy note might prove unmusical to feminine ears. For ten minutes he waited. Had the waiter merely made a mistake in bringing two cups instead of one? Possibly at this very moment she was enjoying her coffee in the dining-room. After all perhaps there was only enough for one. Leaning forward, he picked up the coffee-pot, lifted the lid and peered in. It was full.
As he raised his eyes from the contemplation of the contents of the coffee-pot, it was to meet those of the Rain-Girl gazing quizzically down at him.
