She smiled, shaking her head.
"I 'm not afraid of that," she said.
"Ah," he decided enviously, "you 're no newspaper reader. That 's plain." Then taking new stock of inquiry. "But we 're not in the habit of passing by ... at this time, are we?" he asked. "I thought all good people were between the blankets by nine in the country?"
A queer little flame of resolve began fighting for establishment about her lips, like the flickers of a newly-lighted taper, that burnt up suddenly in speech.
"I was n't ... passing by," she said, the flame reddening her to candor.
"No?"
"I came ... on purpose."
The Spawer's eyebrows ran up in a ruffle of surprise and friendly amusement.
"Not ... to hear me?"
She clasped her teeth in repression upon her lower lip, and nodded her head.