Tea was a beverage in which Browne never indulged, and yet, on this occasion, so little was he responsible for his actions that he acquiesced without a second thought.
"How do you prefer it?" she asked. "Will you have it made in the English or the Russian way? Here is a teapot, and here a samovar; here is milk, and here a slice of lemon. Which do you prefer?"
Scarcely knowing which he chose, Browne answered that he would take it _à la Russe_. She thereupon set to work, and the young man, as he watched her bending over the table, thought he had never in his life before seen so beautiful and so desirable a woman. And yet, had a female critic been present, it is quite possible--nay, it is almost probable that more than one hole might have been picked in her appearance. Her skirt--in order to show my knowledge of the technicalities of woman's attire--was of plain merino, and she also wore a painting blouse that, like Joseph's coat, was of many colours. To go further, a detractor would probably have observed that her hair might have been better arranged. Browne, however, thought her perfection in every respect, and drank his tea in a whirl of enchantment. He found an inexplicable fascination in the mere swish of her skirts as she moved about the room, and a pleasure that he had never known before in the movement of her slender hands above the tray. And when, their tea finished, she brought him a case of cigarettes, and bade him smoke if he cared to, it might very well have been said that that studio contained the happiest man in England. Outside, they could hear the steady patter of the rain, and the rattle of traffic reached them from the High Street; but inside there was a silence of a Norwegian fjord, and the memory of one hour that never could be effaced from their recollections as long as they both should live. Under the influence of the tea, and with the assistance of the cigarette, which she insisted he should smoke, Browne gradually recovered his presence of mind. One thing, however, puzzled him. He remembered what the shopman had told him, and for this reason he could not understand how she came to be the possessor of so comfortable a studio. This, however, was soon explained. The girl informed him that after his departure from Merok (though I feel sure she was not aware that he was the owner of the magnificent vessel she had seen in the harbour) she had been unable to move for upwards of a week. After that she and her companion, Madame Bernstein, had left for Christiania, travelling thence to Copenhagen, and afterwards to Berlin. In the latter city she had met an English woman, also an artist. They had struck up a friendship, with the result that the lady in question, having made up her mind to winter in Venice, had offered her the free use of her London studio for that time, if she cared to cross the Channel and take possession of it.