“Let me help you.” Gumbril jumped up as she came into the room. “What can I do?” He hovered rather ineptly round her.
The lady put down her tray on the little table. “N—nothing,” she said.
“N—nothing?” he imitated her with a playful mockery. “Am I good for n—nothing at all?” He took one of her hands and kissed it.
“Nothing that’s of the l—least importance.” She sat down and began to pour out the tea.
The Complete Man also sat down. “So to adore at first sight,” he asked, “is not of the l—least importance?”
She shook her head, smiled, raised and lowered her eyelids. One was so well accustomed to this sort of thing; it had no importance. “Sugar?” she asked. The young poet was safely there, sparkling across the tea-table. He offered love and she, with the easy heartlessness of one who is
