In their Wisdom by C.P. Snow

Lorimer took her in a taxi from Earl's Court to Soho. It was a longish fare, and when she watched him ordering dinner she wished that she had insisted on travelling by tube. For she knew as much as anyone in London about the devices of the genteel poor. She saw him pressing nice things on her, and choosing the cheaper ones for himself. No, he didn't eat much at night, he didn't want that to put her off: perhaps he'd just have soup and an omelette. But she must have a decent meal. Wine? She pretended not to have any palate, and suggested a carafe of vin ordinaire. When she noticed that he liked his drink, she hesitated about how much another pound would hurt him and then let him order a second. Herself, she was in need of alcohol that night.

She wasn't finding it, however, too much of an effort to show gaiety or at any rate interest. Particularly when he had said something which pleased her. He was a most inarticulate man. He did force himself to say something about her performance in the witness box, but he did so in the identical words he had used four hours before. He said: ‘I thought you did fine this afternoon.'