She shut her eyes and waited.
XIV
MAISIE
i
He didn't know what he was going to do about Maisie.
On a fine, warm day in April Maisie had come home. He had motored her up from the station, and now the door of the drawing-room had closed on them and they were alone together in there.
"Oh, Jerrold—it is nice—to see you—again."
She panted a little, a way she had when she was excited.
"Awfully nice," he said, and wondered what on earth he was going to do next.
He had been all right on the station platform where their greetings had been public and perfunctory, but now he would have to do something intimate and, above all, spontaneous, not to stand there like a stick.