‘Nothing; nothing,’ Graham answered, startled, turning quickly round. ‘I was looking out.... I forgot.... Why are you not asleep?’ He went over to his friend, and sat down by his side. Brocklehurst had already cuddled under the clothes again.
‘I was asleep until you wakened me. Why are you not in your bed?’ he whispered. ‘Why were you standing there? What a mad thing to do at this time of year! You might kill yourself!’
‘Oh, I don’t take cold easily. I suppose I wasn’t thinking of what I was doing.’
‘But you should have put on your dressing-gown. You are only in your night-dress. At first I thought you were walking in your sleep. You looked like a white ghost there at the window. You will catch your death of cold now if you stay there. Come in here beside me if you want to talk.’
Graham got into the bed. ‘I was thinking of you,’ he said softly.
‘You’re a very strange fellow—aren’t you?’ Brocklehurst murmured.
‘Yes; I suppose so.’
‘Hush! Speak lower. If you were caught here with me, you know, there’d be the most frightful row.... What were you looking at out of the window?’