"I am trying to get out," he said, lowering his voice. "Don't you recognize my voice?"
"Ye—yes, I think I do."
"Where are you?"
"Why didn't you go out before?" asked the voice, a bit querulously he thought.
"I am not a sleep walker," he said. Realizing that it was a poor time to jest, he hastily supplemented: "I went to sleep—waiting. Where are you? What time is it? Is every one in bed?"
The curtains at the opposite end of the room parted very slowly. First, a strong, red glow appeared beyond, mellow and somewhat fitful; then the shadowy figure of the girl was silhouetted against the red, framed on either side by shivering drapery.
She was still wearing the white satin evening gown. He took hope.
"It isn't so late, after all," he cried, starting toward her.
"I hope you will go away at once, Mr. Van Pycke," she said quickly. "It is half-past one—and every one is in bed. I don't understand why you are still here."
"I'll tell you all about it," he said, not very confidently. "Don't turn me out until I've got warm, please. I give you my word, I'm paralyzed with the cold."