“It is, it is,” said Geoffrey violently.  “It is the merest humanity.”

“Humanity?”

“To me, of course, if you will pin me down.”

“Oh, there is no reason for the rescued to be humane.”

“They ought to be grateful.”

“They are.”

“Gratefuller then.  Is it nothing that I have taken all the trouble to be born and grow up and live just to come here for you?”

“Perhaps I could be gratefuller if there were any prospect of a fire.”

“Oh, curse the fire,” said Geoffrey rising from his knees.  “Who minds about it?”

“I mind very much.”

“Well, you mustn’t.  You must not mind about anything, because it sets up too strong a reaction in me.  There’s no telling what I might not do under the stress.  Come away from this dreadful place.  The fires will burn in my house, and that is where we are going.”

“I can’t do that,” she said, looking very grave.

“You can’t do anything else.”

“I must wait for my brother.  He’s out somewhere in this storm, and if he comes back and finds me gone—­”

“Oh, your brother,” said Geoffrey, “I forgot all about him.  He’s at my house already.  He sent me for you.”

“Oh,” said she, sighing with relief, and then added maliciously:  “then my plight was not revealed to you in a vision?”

“The vision is with me now.”

She had to perfection, the art of allowing her mind to drift away when she thought it advisable.

“And so you took poor Billy in?” she said.

Geoffrey coughed.  “Well, in a sense,” he answered.

She rose.  “We’ll go at once,” she said.  “Is it far?”

“Not very, but it is going to be hard work.”

He felt more practical.  His delight had slipped from him at the realisation of her relationship to McVay.  For a moment he felt depressed, then as he saw her struggling to undo the knot that held the comforter about her, he forgot everything but the pleasure of doing her a service.  And in the midst of this joy, the coverlet slid to the ground and revealed her clad from head to foot in his sister’s sables.

There was a pause.

“What are you looking at?” she asked.

“That is a nice warm coat you have on.”

“Isn’t it?” She rubbed her cheek against the high collar with a tenderness trying to any masculine onlooker.  “It saved my life.”

It was on the tip of Geoffrey’s tongue to ask if he was not entitled to a similar claim on her consideration, but he suppressed it.  Was it possible that she did not know that the garments she wore were stolen?  Could any sane woman really believe that sable coats fell naturally to the lot of night watchmen?  Her manner was candour itself, but how should it not be?  What more inevitable than that she should make an effort to deceive a casual stranger?  She had the most evident motives for behaving exactly