her usual confidence, 'is a Hindustani word meaning whitey-brown, half black, half white. Let me give you some more tea.'
Berengaria is one of those fortunate beings whose confidence in themselves is supreme, whom nothing ever takes aback. It's a great gift. Now I found out by degrees that there were lots of things that Berengaria knew nothing at all about, yet she never let you guess it at the time. She always had something to say, and whatever she said impressed you. I always did think that cleverness was only the art of hiding ignorance, but I never fully realised it until I met Berengaria. For quite a long time I really believed that 'chichi' did mean whitey-brown. I called all sorts of whitey-brown things 'chichi' in my own mind until one day I made myself a laughing-stock and found out my mistake.
I passed up my cup for more tea.
'Kitmatgar,' called Berengaria, and a boy appeared and disappeared again with the cream jug to get more milk. Now I did want to know why a boy should be called a kitmatgar, but I refrained from asking. I felt sure that Berengaria wouldn't like it. I turned to address Mr. Hugesson-Willoughby.
'My dear Nicola,' said Berengaria, with a charming smile as she handed me my tea, 'you mustn't call him Mr. Hugesson-Willoughby. You must call him John.'
John and I smiled at one another. He blushed and murmured, 'Yes, do.'
