"I am sorry that I should have been such an unpleasant playmate," she
said. "It was a good thing I did disappear."
"Perhaps it was," he said. "There would have been a terrible scene about
that doll's head. An odd thing for me to dream about Christmas-trees and
dolls and playmates: especially when I went to sleep thinking about my
new camera."
"You have a new camera?" she asked.
"Yes," he answered, "and a beauty, too. Would you like to see it?"
She expressed a wish to see it, and when they reached the Kurhaus, she
went with him up to his beautiful room, where he spent his time in the
company of his microscope and his chemical bottles and his photographic
possessions.
"If you sit down and look at those photographs, I will make you some
tea," he said. "There is the camera, but please not to touch it until I
am ready to show it myself."
She watched him preparing the tea; he did everything so daintily, this
Disagreeable Man. He put a handkerchief on the table, to serve for an
afternoon tea-cloth, and a tiny vase of violets formed the centre-piece.
He had no cups, but he polished up two tumblers, and no housemaid could
have been more particular, about their glossiness.
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