"This afternoon," replied the postmaster's wife and assistant. "Wasn't that a dreadful wind last night, Alix? I thought of you. You must have been frightened."
"I slept like a log through all of it," said Alix. "I love the wild night wind. It makes me feel so nice and comfy in bed. I was awfully tired last night. Thanks." Then turning to Courtney: "Sorry you will not go with me. I'll bear you in mind if I ever take a trip to the Sahara. Good-bye."
"Will you be at home tonight?" he asked, holding the door open for her to pass through.
"Yes," she replied composedly.
"I mean,—to me?"
"If you care to come," she said.
He did not accompany her to the car. The big grey-brown dog with his paws on the back of the front seat, was eagerly watching her approach.
She wore a long mole-skin coat and a smart little red turban. She had never looked so alluring to the young man who waited in the open door until the car started away.
"Close the door, please," called out Mrs. Pollock. "This isn't July, you know."
"So she slept like a log, did she?" muttered Courtney as he turned away from his lockbox with a letter. "Well, that's more than I did."