She paid no attention to him. Her legs were crossed. Her one foot was swinging to and fro. Her eyes were fixed speculatively on the foot.
"And you ought to be very glad to have me here again. Suppose I'd listened to Georgie and married him right off, instead of coming back here. A nice fix you'd have been in. You know perfectly well no one in all the world does for you as nicely as I do. You know that, don't you?"
He smiled down at her.
"To be sure I do."
"As a matter of fact," she went on. "When I came in here you were half, if not altogether, asleep in this chair."
"I wasn't asleep, Gina."
"Oh, that's what you always say. But I banged in and you didn't hear me. I lighted the lamp and you didn't seem particularly conscious of it. And the window. The window was wide open. I closed that for you. The wind was bringing in just yards of those flower smells you hate so."
"Was it, Gina?"
"Huh—huh."
"You smelled them, then?"