"The sleigh will be back in twenty or thirty minutes."
"I'll stay ten minutes," she agreed. "Come and sit before the fire in the library. You may have a cigar or a cigaret—but nothing to drink." He started guiltily.
At the end of ten minutes, despite the fact that he was very amusing, she rose from the deep, comfortable chair before the fender, and said good night once more. "I hear sleigh bells in front," she said.
"When are you leaving?" he asked, looking into her eyes with all of the new interest that had come into his own.
"To-morrow. I'm to have a year's vacation on full pay," she said quite clearly. His eyes flew very wide open. "Isn't it nice, Mr. Van Pycke?"
She was gone. He stood perfectly still, listening to the rustle of her gown as she sped up the stairs beyond. Something like a soft laugh came back to him from the dome of the hall. His face was a study.
"By thunder!" he murmured, prior to a long, intent contemplation of the blazing coals. At last, shrugging his shoulders in dire perplexity, he turned and slowly made his way to the front windows.
The sleigh was not in sight. He glanced at his watch. Eleven-twenty. With sudden exasperation he jammed his hands into his pockets and said something softly. Kicking a chair to the window, he sat down and glared at the snow-covered glass. Outside, the wind shrieked louder than ever.
When Bellows came in to turn out the lights at a quarter to twelve, Bosworth did not hear him, nor did Bellows observe the limp figure in the chair. Mr. Van Pycke was sound asleep, and the footman did not have far to go to reach the same state.
A sleigh came up, banked with snow, waited awhile in front of the dark house, and then departed.