To this she responded with some spirit.  “I will if you will.”

“I must go straight to Olga,” he said.  “I promised I would.”

“Not in your wet things!” Muriel exclaimed.  “No, Nick!  Listen!  I am not wet, not as you are.  Let me go to Olga first.  You can send me some coffee in her room if you like.  But you must go at once and change.  Promise you will, Nick!”

She spoke urgently.  For some reason the occasion seemed to demand it.

Nick was silent for a little, as if considering.  Then as they finally reached the porch he spoke in a tone she did not altogether fathom.

“I say, you are not going to shut me out, you know.”

She looked up in astonishment.  “Of course not.  I never dreamt of such a thing.”

“All right,” he said, and this time she knew he spoke with relief.  “I will do as you like then.”

A moment more, and he opened the door, standing aside for her to pass.  She entered quickly, glad to be in shelter, and paused to slip off her streaming waterproof.  He took it from her, passing his hand over her sleeve.

“You are sure you are not wet through?”

“Quite sure,” she told him.  “Take me straight up, won’t you?”

“Yes.  Come this way.”

He preceded her up the wide stairs where he might have walked beside her, not pausing for an instant till he stood at Olga’s door.

“Go straight in,” he said then.  “She is expecting you.  Tell her, if she wants to know, that I am coming directly.”

He passed on swiftly with the words, and disappeared into a room close by.

Very softly Muriel turned the door-handle and entered.  Olga’s voice greeted her before she was well in the room.  It sounded husky and strained.

“Muriel!  Dear Muriel!  I’m so glad you’ve come.  I’ve wanted you so you can’t think.  Where’s Nick?”

“He is coming, dearest.”  Muriel went forward to the bed, and took in hers the two hands eagerly extended.

The child was lying in an uneasy position, her hair streaming in a disordered tangle about her flushed face.  She was shivering violently though the hands Muriel held were burning.  “You came all through this awful storm,” she whispered.  “It was lovely of you, dear.  I hope you weren’t frightened.”

Muriel sat down beside her.  “And you have been left all alone,” she said.

“I didn’t mind,” gasped Olga.  “Mrs. Ellis—­that’s the cook—­was here at first.  But she was such an ass about the thunder that I sent her away.  I expect she’s in the coal cellar.”

A gleam of fun shone for an instant in her eyes, and was gone.  The fevered hands closed tightly in Muriel’s hold.  “I feel so ill,” she murmured, “so ill.”

“Where is it, darling?” Muriel asked her tenderly.

“It’s, it’s all over me,” moaned Olga.  “My head worst, and my throat.  My throat is dreadful.  It makes me want to cry.”