He engaged a sitting-room and bedroom for the night.  Mavis did not trouble to consider what relation to Perigal the hotel people believed her to be.  Her one concern was to discover his intentions with regard to the complication which had arisen in her life.  She ordered tea.  While it was being got ready, she sat by the newly-lit fire, a prey to gloomy thoughts.  The pain in her face had, in a measure, abated.  She was alone, Perigal having gone to the bedroom to wash after his journey.  She contrasted her present misery with the joyousness that had possessed her when last she had been under the same roof as her lover.  Tears welled into her eyes, but she held them back, fearing they would further contribute to the undoing of her looks.

When the tea was brought, she made the waiter wheel the table to the fire; she also took off her cloak and hat and smoothed her hair in the glass.  She put the toast by the fire in order to keep it warm.  She wanted everything to be comfortable and home-like for her lover.  She then poked the fire into a blaze and moved a cumbrous arm chair to a corner of the tea table.  When Perigal came in, he was smoking a cigarette.

“Trying to work up a domestic atmosphere,” he laughed, with a faint suggestion of a sneer in his hilarity.

Mavis bit her lip.

“It was the obvious thing to do.  Don’t be obvious, little Mavis.  It jars.”

“Won’t you have some tea?” she faltered.

“No, thanks.  I’ve ordered something a jolly sight better than tea,” he said, warming his hands at the fire.

Mavis was too stunned to make any comment.  She found it hard to believe that the ardent lover of Polperro and the man who was so indifferent to her extremity, were one and the same.  She felt as if her heart had been hammered with remorseless blows.  They waited in silence till a waiter brought in a bottle of whisky, six bottles of soda water, glasses, and a box of cigarettes.

“Have some whisky?” asked Perigal of Mavis.

“I prefer tea!”

“Have some in that?”

“No, thank you.”

While Mavis sipped her tea, she watched him from the corner of her eyes mix himself a stiff glass of whisky and soda.  She would have given many years of her life to have loved him a little less than she did; she dimly realised that his indifference only fanned the raging fires of her passion.

“I feel better now,” he said presently.

“I’m glad.  I must be going.”

“Eh!”

Mavis got up and went to get her hat.

“I wish you to stay for dinner.”

“I’m sorry.  But I must get back,” she said, as she pinned on her hat.

“I wish you to stay,” he declared, as he caught her insistently by the arm.

The touch of his flesh moved her to the marrow.  She sat helplessly.  He appeared to enjoy her abject surrender.

“Now I’ll have some tea, little Mavis,” he said.