The lovely clubhouse as they came into it was gay with big-flowered
curtains and warm with its roaring fires.
As they crossed the room together, they attracted much attention.
There was about them a fine air of exaltation--.
"Young blood, young blood," said an old gentleman in a corner. "Gad, I
envy him. Look at her eyes--!"
But there was more than her eyes to look at. There were her cheeks,
and her crinkled copper hair under the little hat, and the flower that
she wore, and her white hands as she poured the tea.
They drank unlimited quantities of Orange Pekoe, and ate small
mountains of toast. They were healthily happy and quite unexpectedly
hungry, and the fact that they were sitting alone at the table gave the
whole thing an enchanting atmosphere of domesticity.
"Ralph spoiled it the other day," Jean confided, "I had everything
ready for you."
"How I hated him when I came in."
"Oh, did you?"
"Of course," and then they both laughed, and the old gentleman in the
corner said to the woman who sat with him, "Let's get away. I can't
stand it."
"I don't see why."
"You wouldn't see.
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