Nevertheless, there was a tone in her voice as she joined him that struck a new note in their acquaintanceship.

“I’m glad you came when you did.  I wanted you to meet Colonel Ashley.  You’ll like him when you know him better.  Just at first he was a little embarrassed.  We’d been talking of things—­”

“I didn’t notice anything—­that is, anything different from any other Englishman.”

“Yes; that’s it, isn’t it?  Meeting an Englishman is often like the first plunge into a cold bath—­chilling at first, but delightful afterward.”

He stopped under the portico, to say with a laugh that was not quite spontaneous:  “Yes; I dare say.  But my experience is limited.  I’ve never got to the—­afterward.”

“Oh, well, you will,” she said, encouragingly, “now that you know Colonel Ashley.”

“I’ve heard of men plunging into a cold bath and finding it so icy that they’ve popped out again.”

“Yes; thin-blooded men, who are sensitive to chills.  Not men like you.”

They entered the house, lingering in the oval sitting-room through which they had to pass.

“Fortunately,” he tried to say, lightly, “it doesn’t matter in this case whether I’m sensitive to chills or not.”

“Oh, but it does.  I want you two to be friends.”

“What for?” The question was so point-blank as to be a little scornful, but she ignored that.

“On Colonel Ashley’s side, for what he’ll gain in knowing you; on yours—­for something more.”

He stopped again, at the foot of the staircase in the hall.  “May I ask—­just what you mean by that?”

She hesitated.  “It’s something that a tactful person wouldn’t tell.  If I do, it’s only because I want you to consider me as—­your friend.  I know you haven’t hitherto,” she hurried on, as he flushed and tried to speak.  “I haven’t deserved it.  But after what’s happened—­and after all you’ve done for us—­”

“I could consider you my friend without asking Colonel Ashley to think of me as his.”

“Hardly—­if I marry him; and besides—­when you know him—­You see,” she began again, “what I have in mind depends upon your knowing him—­rather well.”

“Then, Miss Guion,” he laughed, “you can drop it.  I’ve sized him up with a look.  I’ve seen others like him—­at Gibraltar and Malta and Aden and Hongkong and Cairo, and wherever their old flag floats.  They’re a fine lot.  He’s all right for you—­all right in his place.  Only, the place isn’t—­mine.”

“Still,” she persisted, “if I marry him you’d be sometimes in England; and you’d come to visit us, wouldn’t you?”

“Come and—­what?” His astonishment made him speak slowly.

She took a step or two up the stairway, leaning on the banister in a way to prevent his advancing.  She was now looking down at him, instead of looking up.

“Isn’t it true—?” she said, with hesitation—­“at least I’ve rather guessed it—­and I’ve gathered it from things Drusilla has said about you—­You see,” she began once more, “if we’re to be friends you mustn’t mind my speaking frankly and saying things that other people couldn’t say.  You’ve intervened so much in my life that I feel you’ve given me a right to—­intervene—­in yours.”