I went up to her. “Miss Christmas,” I said, “are you out of your senses?”
I could have thought that some soft sound, even like a suppressed sob, came from her lips. If I was not mistaken, she hastened to convince me at least that the fact of my arrival had nothing to do with it. Her answer was as cold as the falling snow.
“I don’t think so. I am quite capable of taking care of myself, thank you.”
“You are not, if you can venture out alone on such a day as this. I must take you home at once.”
She curled her lip magnificently.
“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand you. I wish you would go to another tree. There is plenty of room in this lane for both of us.”
“If I go, I shall go altogether.”
She turned her shoulder on me.
“I don’t want to be rude,” she said.
Now, whatever the meaning of her presence here, her escapade was the maddest thing conceivable. I was quite at a loss how to account for it or persuade her from it, when suddenly the devil put a suspicion, half tormenting, half mocking, into my head, and I spoke recklessly, on the spur of it.