But Spike’s eyes were wet, his mouth quivered, and instead of answering he buried his face in the pillow again.

“Say, Hermy,” he mumbled, “take him away before I do th’ tear-gushin’ act!  Take him down-stairs—­give him a drink—­light him a cigarette—­kiss him!  Only take him away before I get mushy.  But, say—­when I’m in bed, you’ll—­you’ll come an’—­say good night like—­like you used to, Hermy dear?”

Swiftly she stooped and kissed that curly head.

“I’ll come—­oh, I’ll come, boy, dear!” she murmured, land left him with Mrs. Trapes.

Down-stairs the fire glowed, filling the room with shadows, and side by side they stood looking down into the heart of the fire and were silent awhile, and, though she was so near, he didn’t touch her.

“So it wasn’t Arthur, after all!” he said at last.

“No,” she answered softly, “it wasn’t Arthur—­thank God!”

“Amen!” said he, so fervently that she glanced up at him swiftly, then looked into the fire again.  Seeing how the colour deepened in her cheek, he came a little nearer; but still he didn’t touch her; instead, he took out tobacco pouch and pipe and began to fill it with strangely clumsy fingers, and Hermione saw that his hands were trembling.

“Let me!” she said gently.  So he surrendered pipe and pouch and, watching, saw that her hands trembled also; when at last she had filled the pipe, he took it and laid it on the table.

“Aren’t you going to smoke, dear?”

“No, not now.  You’ll remember that Arthur also suggested you should—­”

“Give you something to drink!” she added a little breathlessly and crossed to the cellaret in the corner.  “Will you have brandy and soda?”

“Thanks—­yes—­that will do,” he answered absently, and when she dutifully brought the filled glass he took it and set it down untasted beside the pipe.

“Why, Geoffrey!” she said in murmurous surprise, “aren’t you thirsty?”

“No, not now.  You will probably remember that Arthur also suggested you should—­”

“I know!” she breathed, “but, oh, Geoffrey, dear—­wait—­just a little longer.”

“Why?” he demanded hoarsely.

“Because!” she answered, staring down at her clasped hands.

“Why?”

“Because, my Geoffrey, if—­if I let myself—­kiss you now, I—­shall never be able to—­tear myself away, and I must say good night to Arthur and—­”

She paused as a knock sounded on the door, and Mrs. Trapes appeared.

“Why, dear land o’ my fathers!” she exclaimed.  “Ain’t you had time t’ take off your bonnet yet, Hermy?”

“Goodness me!” exclaimed Hermione, “I forgot it!” So saying, off it came, and there was the curl above her eyebrow more wantonly alluring than ever.