Not the cathedral alone had induced George to leave the office early.
The dissembler had reflected that if he called in a certain conventional
tea-shop near Cambridge Circus at a certain hour he would probably meet
Marguerite Haim. He knew that she had an appointment with one of her
customers, a firm of bookbinders, that afternoon, and that on similar
occasions she had been to the tea-shop. In fact he had already once
deliciously taken tea with her therein. To-day he was disappointed, to
the extent of the tea, for he met her as she was coming out of the shop.
Their greetings were rather punctilious, but beneath superficial
formalities shone the proofs of intimacy. They had had large
opportunities to become intimate, and they had become intimate. The
immediate origin of and excuse for the intimacy was a lampshade. George
had needed a lampshade for his room, and she had offered to paint one.
She submitted sketches. But George also could paint a bit. Hence
discussions, conferences, rival designs, and, lastly, an agreement upon
a composite design. Before long, the lampshade craze increasing in
virulence, they had between them re-lampshaded the entire house. Then
the charming mania expired; but it had done its work. During the summer
holiday George had written twice to Marguerite, and he had thought
pleasurably about her the whole time.
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