They had now reached the Wilton Road. By way of reply to her question, he elbowed her into one of the pretentious restaurants which lined the side of the thoroughfare on which they walked.
"I'm not hungry," she protested.
"Do as you're told," he replied, urging her to a table.
He called the waiter and ordered an elaborate meal to be brought with all dispatch. He then took off the light overcoat covering his evening clothes before joining Mavis, who was surprised to see how much older he was looking.
"What are you staring at?" he asked.
"You. Have you had trouble?"
"Yes," he replied, looking her hard in the eyes.
"I'm sorry," she remarked, dropping hers.
As if to leaven her previous ungraciousness, Mavis ate as much of the food as she could. She noticed, however, that, beyond sipping his wine, Windebank merely made pretence of eating: but for all his remissness with regard to his own needs, he was full of tender concern for her comfort.
"You're eating nothing," she presently remarked.