She said, “Please not to-night.”
“I'm jolly well coming,” he chuckled.
The lesson of dependence was wilfully forgotten. Mary agreed with Angela and David: she hated this Bob.
“No,” she said sharply, “you are not.”
He had thrown his cigar into the grate; taken out another; stooped to the hearth to scratch a match. His back was to her; to him all her tone conveyed was that a “rag” was on hand.
“We'll see,” he laughed; struck the match.
She stepped swiftly within the door; closed it.
Bob Chater laughed again; ran across.
The lock clicked as she turned the key.
“Let me in!” he cried, rattling the handle. “Let me in!”