“Oh, if you please, Doctor,” she minced, “they’ve all gone out, and Mrs. Woolley left a message to say if you could go and fetch her and the children from 85, Lower Park Avenue, about seven o’clock——”
“Stow it, Elsie! D’you mean to say you and I are the only people left in the place? Where’s that damned slut in the kitchen, eh?”
“It’s Florrie’s afternoon out, Doctor, but——”
“Florrie be damned! Look here, Elsie, this sort of thing can’t go on.”
She backed until she stood against the wall, feeling the warm blood surge into her face and looking at him through half-closed eyelids.
“What sort of thing?”
“You know very well what I mean. Look at me. D’you think I’m a man?”
He thrust out his chest and doubled up his arms, standing with his legs wide apart. In spite of his grossness and unwholesome fat, Elsie thrilled to the suggestion of his masculine strength.
“Yes,” she murmured.
“Well, I tell you no man’s going to stand what you’re making me stand. Elsie, you little devil! Don’t you know you’re driving me mad? God, if I could tell you the sort of dreams I get at night, now!”