She rose to her feet, raised her veil and came over to where he was sitting.

He smelt the familiar odor of "Lily of the Valley" perfume, blended with the odor of cleaned gloves and benzine.
The air around him was full of little violet specks from her boa.

She laid her hand upon his shoulder.
"Come and be a man again, Alfred," she begged, a little awkwardly.
"You've got good common sense at the bottom still, I am sure.

Why don't you give up this tomfoolery and come home to me and the boy?
Or shall I stay up," she went on, "and have a little evening in town?
You've got the money.

Why not let's go to a restaurant and a music-hall afterwards?
We might ask the Johnsons.