said.

He laughed without mirth. 'Never in its life. Has Christabel been
worrying you?'

'Worrying me? Poor child--'

'Yes, it's damnable, but she does worry one--and you look odd.'

'I'm getting old,' she murmured, not seeking reassurance but stating a
fact plain to her.

'You're exactly the same!' he said. 'Exactly the same!' He swept his
face with his hands, and at that sight a new sensation seized her
delicately, delightfully, as though a firm hand held her for an
instant above the earth, high in the air, free from care, from
restrictions, from the necessity for thought--but only for an instant.
She was set down again, inwardly swaying, apparently unmoved, but
conscious of the carpet under her feet, the chairs with twisted legs,
the primrose curtains, the spring afternoon outside.

'Let us have tea,' she said. She handled the pretty flowered cups and
under her astonished eyes the painted flowers were like a little
garden, gay and sweet and gilded. She seemed to smell them and the
hiss of the kettle was like a song. Then, as she handed him his cup
and looked into his wretched face and remembered the bitter reality of
things, she still could not lose all sense of sweetness.

'Don't say any more!' she said quickly. 'Don't say another word.'