She sat swallowing through obvious gulps, but increasingly determined to be arch.
"Please—don't," trying to withdraw her hand.
"Come now," he said through a half smile and watching her redden almost to purple, "you don't hate me that badly or you wouldn't be back here."
"I know I don't."
"What?"
"Hate you."
"Good! Now we're getting on."
"I need something, Mr. Visigoth—terribly."
"We're not using that song specialty any more," he said, kindly.
"I've given up that sort of thing, too, Mr. Visigoth. I'm a stenographer now."