George took out his handkerchief and rubbed his nose very hard, a performance that may have been actuated by emotion or equivocation.
"I don't want to talk about it," he said, with a suspicion of huskiness in his throat.
"Perhaps they were very ungrateful," Miss Fairbrother observed sympathetically.
"That's it," said George; "some people don't deserve to be saved."
"I'm afraid I haven't given you much but my thanks."
"Don't mention it. It's a pleasure to save any one like you. I'd like to do it every day."
Miss Fairbrother suddenly became so interested in something she saw outside the window that only one pink ear was visible to her rescuer.
"When I think of yesterday," continued George, leaning forward and speaking slowly, "I can't understand why I called up that cab so soon and put you in it, and why I didn't stand there holding you."
He paused a moment, but Miss Fairbrother never moved. The pink ear seemed to be growing pinker. George went on daringly—
"That ride home in the cab was a ride I shall always think about. I don't think I took my eyes off you once all the way. How could I, when——"