“Tea at the Ritz is the last delicious morsel of Edwardian London. The light is kind, the cakes are frivolous and the tempo is calm, confident and leisurely.”

“A ripe suggestion," I said. "Where are you meeting her? At the Ritz?""Near the Ritz."He was geographically accurate. About fifty yards east of the Ritz there is one of those blighted tea-and-bun shops you see dotted about all over London and into this, if you'll believe me, young Bingo dived like a homing rabbit; and before I had time to say a word we were wedged in at a table, on the brink of a silent pool of coffee left there by an early luncher.”

“What did I do?" he said. "Cake! It's cake! Delicious cake!”

“The tea was so delicious that it was not necessary to pretend it was anything but tea.”

“Cake and tea or death?”

“The cup of tea on arrival at a country house is a thing which, as a rule, I particularly enjoy. I like the crackling logs, the shaded lights, the scent of buttered toast, the general atmosphere of leisured cosiness.”