"That's nothing to do with it." He stood up and kicked a protruding coal. "Nothing to do with it. I know I—want you." He turned sharply towards her. "I was half drunk that night."
"I wish you wouldn't talk about it."
He added abruptly, "I've had nothing since."
Her silence implied that this was only what she had expected and, feeling baulked of his effect, he sighed again.
"Oh, you are so pathetic! Why don't you smile?" He did it, and she nodded her applause, while he, appeased and daring, asked her, "Well, did you miss me?"
"Yes. A little."
"Are you glad I'm here?"
"I think so."
"When will you be sure?"
"Ah, that depends on you. I hate you to be rough."