"What is it?" she asked.
"I did not expect that you would recognize me," said Newcomb, laughing.
"John? Where in the world did you come from?" taking him by the arm and dragging him into the hall. "Good gracious!"
"The truth is, Betty, I took to my heels at six o'clock, and have been riding around the country ever since." He sent her a penetrating glance.
"Come in to the fire," she cried impulsively. "You are cold and wet and hungry."
"Only wet," he admitted as he entered the cheerful library. He went directly to the blazing grate and spread out his red, wet, aching hands. He could hear her bustling about; it was a pleasant sound. A chair rolled up to the fender; the rattle of a tea-table followed. It was all very fine. "I ought to be ashamed to enter a house in these reeking clothes," he said; "but the temptation was too great."
"You are always welcome, John," softly.
His keen ear caught the melancholy sympathy in her tone. He shrugged. He had lost the fight. Had he won, she would already have poured forth her congratulations.
"Sit down," she commanded, "while I get the tea. Or would you prefer brandy?"
"The tea, by all means. I do not need brandy to bolster up my courage." He sat down.