“How like a man not to know where anything is!” she commented lightly, removing her hat. “Never mind, I’ll soon find out. And you’ll be saved the trouble of going to Mason’s.” She discovered it was absurdly easy to treat him like a baby. She found crockery and food without much difficulty, and while she was making tea he followed her about from room to room, chatting quite genially. His surliness seemed to vanish entirely: he became charmingly urbane. Evidently her method of treatment bad been completely successful. The tension of the atmosphere had been very much lowered, and he seemed quite schoolboyish in his amateur assistance at what he called “indoor picnicking.” As she emerged from cupboards carrying cups and plates and fancy cakes he looked at her very much as if she were a species of conjurer. They behaved just like a couple of jolly companions as they sat round the fire and had tea. § 11 Afterwards he became less conversational. “Leave the things,” he commanded. “Mrs. Tebbutt will see to them when she gets back.” “All right,” she agreed. “Now we’re going for a walk, eh?” “I’ve got heaps of work----” he began. “Not on Christmas Day,” she urged. “Oh, that makes no difference.” “Besides, you said you weren’t going to do any more work, in any case.” “No--but--I thought of dropping in at the Trants.” Impossible to describe the fierce stab of jealousy that passed through her. It changed her mood completely. “Mr. Verreker,” she said, with emotion, “after a fortnight of not seeing me, can’t you spare me one evening?” “Of course if you’ve anything particular to say to me--any help you want--of course--I----” “Not that! That’s not the point. Mayn’t I never come to you except when I’ve something definite I want to ask you for? Aren’t we friends?” “Certainly.” “Then why can’t you come out with me when I ask you to?” “Oh yes, I will, but----” “You’re the only friend I have. Don’t you know that?” “I’m sorry to hear it. I am bound to say it is to some extent your own fault that you have not more.” They were standing in front of the fire. At this last remark she moved till her face was a few inches from his. Her eyes were flashing with anger, yet dim with tears like a mirror breathed upon: her hands were clenched and quivering as if she were thinking to strike him. All her body, every limb and muscle of her, was vibrant with passion. “Mr. Verreker,” she cried, “why do you keep saying things that hurt me? Am I nothing to you at all? Don’t you care one tiny scrap for what I feel? Oh, I know I’m very imperfect--I daresay I’m all wrong, to your way of thinking, but have you ever lifted a finger to make me different? Have you ever cared whether I was different or not?” “I have helped you always as much as I have been able,” he replied, with dignity.