Father and daughter regarded each other warily, each more than a little insecure with the other. The shouts, yells, and groans which they uttered, and which were echoed by the concourse in the rear, were perfectly frightful. “You are very kind,” she said hesitatingly, “but I don’t remember—I don’t think that I know you, do I?” “I am afraid that you do not,” he admitted, with a smile which he meant to be encouraging. She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. Your boyfriend.
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