o, and
this seemed an immeasurable happiness, a pure world of freedom, after
the aimlessness and misery of the house. Gudrun stayed on till evening.
She and Winifred had dinner brought up to the studio, where they ate in
freedom, away from all the people in the house.

After dinner Gerald came up. The great high studio was full of shadow
and a fragrance of coffee. Gudrun and Winifred had a little table near
the fire at the far end, with a white lamp whose light did not travel
far. They were a tiny world to themselves, the two girls surrounded by
lovely shadows, the beams and rafters shadowy over-head, the benches
and implements shadowy down the studio.

'You are cosy enough here,' said Gerald, going up to them.

There was a low brick fireplace, full of fire, an old blue Turkish rug,
the little oak table with the lamp and the white-and-blue cloth and the
dessert, and Gudrun making coffee in an odd brass coffee-maker, and
Winifred scalding a little milk in a tiny saucepan.

'Have you had coffee?' said Gudrun.

'I have, but I'll have some more with you,' he replied.

'Then you must have it in a glass--there are only two cups,' said
Winifred.

'It is the same to me,' he said, taking a chair and coming into the
charmed circle of the girls. How happy they were, how cosy and
glamorous it was with them, in a world of lofty shadows! The outside
world, in which he had been transacting funeral business all the day
was completely wiped out. In an instant he snuffed glamour and magic.

They had all their things very dainty, two odd and lovely little cups,
scarlet and solid gilt, and a little black jug with scarlet discs, and
the curious coffee-machine, whose spirit-flame flowed steadily, almost
invisibly. There was the effect of rather sinister richness, in which
Gerald at once escaped himself.

They all sat down, and Gudrun carefully poured out the coffee.

'Will you have milk?' she asked calmly, yet nervously poising the
little black jug with its big red dots. She was always so completely
controlled, yet so bitterly nervous.

'No, I won't,' he replied.

So, with a curious humility, she placed him the little cup of coffee,
and herself took the awkward tumbler. She seemed to want to serve him.

'Why don't you give me the glass--it is so clumsy for you,' he said. He
would much rather have had it, and seen her daintily served. But she
was silent, pleased with the disparity, with her self-abasement.

'You are quite EN