He had never loved before, and there was still a part of him that was only twenty years of age.

He could not tell whether he was profoundly sad or deeply happy; but he was not ashamed of the tears that brought the smart to his eyes and the ache to his throat.

He did not hear the timid rapping on his door, and it was not until the door itself opened that he looked up quickly and saw the little retired dressmaker standing on the threshold, carrying a cup of tea on a tiny Japanese tray.

She held it toward him.
"I was making some tea," she said, "and I thought you would like to have a cup." Never after could the little dressmaker understand how she had brought herself to do this thing.

One moment she had been sitting quietly on her side of the partition, stirring her cup of tea with one of her Gorham spoons.