Soho Square held the heart of autumn that afternoon. London had surrendered this quiet corner to pastoral meditation. Here, among the noise of many sparrows and sibilance of dead leaves on the unfrequented pavement, one realized in the perishable hour"s flight the immortality of experience.
"More birds," said Jenny.
"Don"t they make a row and don"t the leaves look ripping in this light?"
"There"s another one getting excited over the day."
"Well, it is superb," said Maurice. "Only I wish there weren"t such a smell of pickles. I say, would you mind going on ahead and then turning back and meeting me?"
"Oo-er, whatever for?"
"I want to see how jolly you"d look coming round the corner under the trees."
"You are funny."
"I suppose you think I"m absurd. But really, you know, you do look like a Dresden shepherdess with your heart-shaped face and slanting eyes."
"Thanks for those few nuts."
"No, really, do go on, won"t you?"
"I certainly sha"n"t. People would think we was mad."
"What do people matter?"
"Hark at him. Now he"s crushed the world."
"One has to be fanciful on such an afternoon."
"You"re right."
"I suppose I couldn"t kiss you here?"
"Oh, of course. Wouldn"t you like to sit down on the curb and put your arm round my waist?"
"As a matter of fact, I should."
"Well, I shouldn"t. See? Where"s this unnatural tea-shop?"
"Just here."
"It looks like the Exhibition."
It was a dim coffee-shop hung with rugs and gongs. The smoke of many cigarettes and joss-sticks had steeped the gloom with Arabian airs.
"It is in a way a caravanserai," said Maurice.
"A what?" said Jenny.
"A caravanserai--a Turkish pub, if you like it better."
"You and I _are_ seeing life to-day."
"I like my coffee freshly ground," Maurice explained.
"Well, I like tea."
"The tea"s very good here. It"s China."
"But I think China tea"s terrible. More like burnt water than tea."
"I"m afraid you don"t appreciate the East," he said.
"No, I don"t if it means China tea."
"I wish I could take you away with me to j.a.pan. We"d sit under a magnolia and you should have a kiss for every petal that fell."
"That sounds rather nice."
"You know you yourself are a bit j.a.panesy."
"Don"t say that. I hate to be told that."
"It"s the slant in your eyes."
"I don"t like my eyes," said Jenny emphatically.
"I do."
"One pleased, any old way."
"I love your eyes," said Maurice earnestly. "But I made a mistake when I said you were j.a.panese. You"re Slav--Russian, you know."
"I must be a procession of all nations, according to you."
"But you are frightfully subtle."
"Anything else? You"re sure I"m not a bighead?"
"A what?" said Maurice.
"A pantomime bighead."
Maurice laughed.
"Men always talk about my eyes," Jenny went on. "They often call me the girl with the saucy eyes, or the squiny eyes, _which_ I don"t like. And yet, for all my strange appearance, if I want a man to be struck on me, he always is."
"Did you want me to be struck on you?"