“About me?” she asked curiously.
“Shut up!” His voice was savage, and she suddenly saw sweat glistening on his upper lip and round his nose.
Elsie decided to begin to cry. “It frightens me when you shout at me like that. Perhaps I’d better go,” she said sobbingly.
“No, no, no! I say, what a brute I am! Come here and be comforted, little girl.”
He sat down heavily in the revolving chair before the writing-table and held out his hand.
Elsie advanced slowly, without looking at him, until she came within reach of his arm. Then he caught hold of her and drew her on to his knee, gripping her tightly until her weight sank against his shoulder.
“Let me kiss all the tears away. What a hound I am to make you cry! Was’ums very mis’mis?”
He petted and soothed her, kissing the back of her neck and her dust-coloured curls, murmuring absurd, infantile phrases.
Presently he whispered: “D’you love me?”
Elsie laughed and would not answer, and he struggled with her playfully, pulling her about, and grasping at her with his big hands.