"I'm sorry. But I must get back," she said, as she pinned on her hat.
"I wish you to stay," he declared, as he caught her insistently by the arm.
The touch of his flesh moved her to the marrow. She sat helplessly. He appeared to enjoy her abject surrender.
"Now I'll have some tea, little Mavis," he said.
She poured him out a cup, while he got the toast from the fender to press some on her. He began to recover his spirits; he talked, laughed, and rallied her on her depression. She was not insensible to his change of mood.
When the tea was taken away, he pressed a cigarette on her against her will.
"You always get your own way," she murmured, as he lit it for her.
"Now we'll have a cosy little chat," he said, as he wheeled her chair to the fire. He brought his chair quite near to hers.
Mavis did not suffer quite so much.
"Now about this trouble," he continued. "Tell me all about it."