The man bowed, and his bewildered eyes fixed themselves on Little Ann.
“Thank you,” he said. “It's very kind of you. I—I am—in great trouble.”
Little Ann went to him and smiled her motherly smile at him.
“You're very wet,” she said. “You'll take a bad cold if you're not careful. Mrs. Bowse thinks you ought to go right to bed and have something hot to drink.”
“It seems a long time since I was in bed,” he answered her.
“I'm very tired. Thank you.” He drew a weary, sighing breath, but he didn't move his eyes from the girl's face. Perhaps the cessation of action in certain cells of his brain had increased action in others. He looked as though he were seeing something in Little Ann's face which might not have revealed itself so clearly to the more normal gaze.
He moved slightly nearer to her. He was a tall man, and had to look down at her.
“What is your name?” he asked anxiously. “Names trouble me.”
It was Ann who drew a little nearer to him now. She had to look up, and the soft, absorbed kindness in her eyes might, Tembarom thought, have soothed a raging lion, it was so intent on its purpose.
“My name is Ann Hutchinson; but never you mind about it now,” she said. “I'll tell it to you again. Let Mr. Tembarom take you up-stairs to bed. You'll be better in the morning.” And because his hollow eyes rested on her so fixedly she put her hand on his wet sleeve.