She had even got Mr.Cloudwater (that _pere aprivoise!_) to mix her two dry Martini cocktails, which were ready for her guest.
Henry knocked at the door exactly at eight o'clock, and she went to meet him with all the air of authority of a mother, and led him into the room, pushing him gently into the chair she had prepared for him.

A man may have a broken heart--but the hurt cannot feel so great when he is surrounded with every comfort and ministered to by a beautiful young woman, who is not only in love with him, but has the nerve to keep her head and not neglect a single point which can be of use in her game.
If she had shown him too much sympathy, or just been ultra-refined and silent and adoring, Henry by this time would have been quite as unhappy as he had been at first; but he was too courteous by nature not to try to be polite and appreciative of kindness when she tendered it so frankly, no matter what his inward feelings might be--and this she knew she could count upon and meant to exploit.

She argued very truly that if he were obliged to act, it would brace him up and be beneficial to him, even though at the moment he would much prefer to be alone.

So now she made him drink the cocktail, and then she deliberately spoke of Sabine, wondering if she would be awfully surprised to see Michael, and if he would take her back with him to Arranstoun.

Henry winced at every word, but he had to answer, and presently he found he did not feel so sad.
Then, with dexterity, she turned the conversation to English politics and got him to explain points to her, and at every moment she poured in insidious flattery and frank, kind affection, so that by the time the ice had come, Henry had begun to feel unaccountably soothed.