"I live in this house."
"You live here?" she faltered, and sat down suddenly, trembling from head to foot.
"Yes; and I have just returned from the club."
"Then it was not you following me?"
At that she sprang up and threw herself into his arms in a frenzy of fear.
"Who was it, then? Oh, Denis, Denis, save me; take me into your house—hide me!"
"Hush!" he said gently, and, keeping a supporting arm about her, guided her round the veranda, took a key out of his pocket, and let her and himself in by a side door. He closed and locked the door behind them, put her into a chair, then examined the window to make sure it was closed as well as shuttered. It was a man's sitting-room, full of the scent of leather and tobacco. Going to a spirit-stand on the table he poured out some brandy.
"Drink this," he said, in the same firm tone he had used all along, and mechanically she obeyed him.
"Where are we?" she murmured. "Whose house is this? I thought you lived at the club?"
"So I did until last week, when this house was lent me. Don't be afraid. The servants are all in bed, and there is no one about. You are much safer here than roaming about the streets at one in the morning."