Part 2 (1/2)
”I'm afraid I'm precious poor company,” said Charlie.
”I didn't want you to be company at all,” answered Miss Bellairs, and she sloped her parasol until it obstructed his view of her face.
”I'm awfully sorry, but I can't stand the sort of rot Deane and Laing are talking.”
”Can't you? Neither can I.”
”They never seem to be serious about anything, you know,” and Charlie sighed deeply, and for three minutes there was silence.
”Do you know Scotland at all?” asked Charlie at last.
”Only a little.”
”There last year?”
”No, I was in Switzerland.”
”Oh.”
”Do you know Interlaken?”
”No.”
”Oh.”
”May I have a cigarette?”
”Of course, if you like.”
Charlie lit his cigarette and smoked silently for a minute or two.
”I call this a beastly place,” said he.
”Yes, horrid,” she answered, and the force of sympathy made her move the parasol and turn her face towards her companion. ”But I thought,”
she continued, ”you came here every spring?”
”Oh, I don't mind the place so much. It's the people.”
”Yes, isn't it? I know what you mean.”
”You can't make a joke of everything, can you?”
”Indeed no,” sighed Dora.
Charlie looked at his cigarette, and, his eyes carefully fixed on it, said in a timid tone:
”What's the point, for instance, of talking as if love was all bosh?”
Dora's parasol swept down again swiftly, but Charlie was still looking at the cigarette and he did not notice its descent, nor could he see that Miss Bellairs's cheek was no longer sallow.