He changed colour, smiled, and nervously went to the door.
'Here you are, Mavis!' He calmed her and himself by this banal welcome.
He made a movement to help her off with her coat, but she stopped him, and he didn't insist, guessing that she supposed her blouse to be unfit for publication.
She sat down on the sofa, and leaned back, looking at him with her pretty, weary, dreary, young, blue eyes.
'It seems such a long time since I saw you,' said Vincy.

'You're tired; I wish I had a lift.' 'I am tired,' she spoke in rather a hoarse voice always.

'And I ought not to stop long.' 'Oh, stay a minute longer, won't you ?' he asked.
'Well, I like that! I've only just this moment arrived!' 'Oh, Mavis, don't say that! Have some tea.' He waited on her till she looked brighter.
'How is Aunt Jessie ?' 'Aunt Jessie's been rather ill.' 'Still that nasty pain ?' asked Vincy.
She stared at him, then laughed.
'As if you remember anything about it.' 'Oh, Mavis! I do remember it.

I remember what was the matter with her quite well.' 'I bet you don't.

What was it ?' she asked, with childish eagerness.
'It was that wind round the heart that she gets sometimes.