“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?”