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 MENAGE,’