Meanwhile the second man had thrust his arm within Vane's and had led him along a few paces, when suddenly the imprisoned arm was withdrawn and Vane pulled himself up. He had caught sight of a Nithsdale cloak with the face he had been dreaming about all day peeping from beneath the hood.
"Jarvis—Compton—let me go," he exclaimed, "another time."
He violently wrenched himself free. They followed his eyes and instinctively guessed the reason of his objection. The figure in the cloak had turned but there was an unmistakeable suggestion of lingering in her attitude.
"Man alive," laughed Jarvis, "your argument's unanswerable. We give you best. Woman has conquered as she always does. Good luck."
Vane did not stay to listen to the banter of his friends but hastened towards the cloak.
"You're my good angel," he whispered holding out both his hands.
"I'm afraid I've come at a wrong moment. I'm taking you from your friends," said the girl in the cloak a little coldly.
"You're offended. Pray forgive me if I've done anything wrong."
"Not to me. Perhaps to yourself. But I ought not to say ... no, what you do is nothing to me."
"Do you really mean that?"