"Yessir."
She followed him obediently. He turned round brusquely, "Here, give me your parcels." And almost snatching them from her, he carried them upstairs and deposited them on his table on top of the comic opera.
"Now, then, sit down. You can take off your hat and jacket."
"Yessir."
He helped her to do so.
"Now, Mary Ann, why did you return me those gloves?"
"Please, sir, I remember in our village when—when"—she felt a diffidence in putting the situation into words, and wound up quickly—"something told me I ought to."
"I don't understand you," he grumbled, comprehending only too well. "But why couldn't you come in and give them to me instead of behaving in that ridiculous way?"
"I didn't want to see you again," she faltered.
He saw her eyes were welling over with tears.