“I don’t approve of your going out with boys so much older than yourself.”
“Then you can tell me so, quietly; but it’s no reason to go quarrelling like that. I can’t eat any more now.”
“Oh, Addie, just when I’ve ordered . . .”
“What?”
“Apple-pudding and wine-sauce.”
“Well, it’ll keep till to-morrow.”
“Do have a little. You know you like it.”
“Yes, but I can’t eat when I see you so cross. It chokes me, here.”
And he pointed to his throat.
“Have just a little bit,” she said, coaxingly.
“If you’re very good.”
“Give me a kiss.”
“But mind you’re very good.”
They laughed together; he gently wiped away her tears:
“You ought to see yourself in the glass,” he added, “with those red eyes of yours!”
He sat down. She rang the bell. The servant brought in the pudding, displayed no particular surprise at finding that meneer had gone.
“Is there any cheese, for Papa?” he asked.
The servant brought the cheese; Addie cut a piece of gruyère, put it on a plate with some butter and biscuits, poured out a glass of wine.
“Addie . . .”
“Wait a minute,” he said.
And he went upstairs with the cheese and the wine.
