"Let me. You ought to have hot water, and there's no fire. I'll rub you down. And your hair! Wring it out, child. What were you doing on the moor?"
"Just amusing myself."
"With George Halkett?"
"We-ell, I was with him in the spirit, oh, yes, I was; but in the flesh, only for a very little while. What made you think I was with him?"
"Something I heard. Are you warmer now?"
"Much warmer. Give me my nightgown, please. Oh, it's comfortable, and out there I was so cold, so cold. Oh," she cried out, "I should love to set his farm on fire!"
"Hush!"
"But I would! If I'd had matches, and if it hadn't been raining, and if I'd thought about it, I would have done it then."
"But what did he do to you?" Helen's eyes were sombre. "He surely didn't touch you?"
Miriam's arrested laughter marked their differences. She remembered George Halkett's hand on hers and the wilder, more distant passion of his arms clasping her among the larches.