“Don’t hurry,” she murmured apologetically.  Then she settled back limply in the wide couch and inspected the room, his footsteps noisily clattering down the long hallway to the left.  She saw, with some misgiving, that it was purely a man’s habitation.  Shaw doubtless had built and furnished the big cottage without woman as a consideration.  The room was large, comfortable, solid; there was not a suggestion of femininity in it—­high or low—­except the general air of cleanliness.  The furniture was rough-hewn and built for use, not ornamentation; the walls were hung with English prints, antlers, mementoes of the hunt and the field of sport; the floor was covered with skins and great “carpet rag” rugs.  The whole aspect was so distinctly mannish that her heart fluttered ridiculously in its loneliness.  Her cogitations were running seriously toward riot when he came hurriedly down the hall and into her presence.

“She’ll be down presently.  In fact, so will the cook and the housemaid.  Gad, Miss Drake, they were so afraid of the storm that all of them piled into Mrs. Ulrich’s room.  I wonder at your courage in facing the symptoms outdoors.  Now, I’ll fix you a drink.  Take off your hat—­be comfortable.  Cigarette?  Good!  Here’s my sideboard.  See?  It’s a nuisance, this having only one arm in commission; affects my style as a barkeep.  Don’t stir; I’ll be able—­”

“Let me help you.  I mean, please don’t go to so much trouble.  Really I want nothing but a place to sleep to-night.  This couch will do—­honestly.  And some one to call me at daybreak, so that I may be on my way.”  He looked at her and laughed quizzically.  “Oh, I’m in earnest, Mr. Shaw.  I wouldn’t have stopped here if it hadn’t been for the storm.”

“Come, now, Miss Drake, you spoil the fairy tale.  You did intend to come here.  It was the only place for you to go—­and I’m glad of it.  My only regret is that the house isn’t filled with chaperons.”

“Why?” she demanded with a guilty start.

“Because I could then say to you all the things that are in my heart—­aye, that are almost bursting from my lips.  I—­I can’t say them now, you know,” he said, and she understood his delicacy.  For some minutes she sat in silence watching him as he clumsily mixed the drinks and put the water over the alcohol blaze.  Suddenly he turned to her with something like alarm in his voice.  “By George, you don’t suppose they’ll pursue you?”

“Oh, wouldn’t that be jolly?  It would be like the real story-book—­the fairy and the ogres and all that.  But,” dubiously, “I’m sorely afraid they consider me rubbish, Still—­” looking up encouragingly—­“my brother would try to find me if he—­if he knew that I was gone.”

To her surprise, he whistled softly and permitted a frown of anxiety to creep over his face.  “I hadn’t thought of that,” he observed reflectively.  Then he seemed to throw off the momentary symptoms of uneasiness, adding, with a laugh:  “I daresay nothing will happen.  The storm would put a stop to all idea of pursuit.”