He sat up on the couch, looking about the little room curiously, as one recovering consciousness in strange surroundings. Then he began slowly to pull on the wet boots that she had placed near the fire.
When he stood up, put on his coat, and reached for his hat, she came up to him, hesitating, timid.
“You are so cold! If you would only stay here—I am afraid you will be sick.”
He answered very gently:
“It is better to go. I am strong again, now.”
“I would—I would not be near you—and I am afraid for you to go out again in the cold.”
He smiled a little. “Nothing can hurt me now—I am strong.”
He opened the door, breathing his fill of the icy air that rushed in. He stepped outside, then turned to her. She stood in the doorway, the light from the room melting the darkness about them.
They looked long at each other. Then in a sudden impulse of gratitude, of generous feeling toward her, he put out his arm and drew her to him. She was cold, impassive. He bent over and lightly kissed her closed, unresponding lips. As he drew away, her hand caught his wrist for a second.
“I’m glad!” she said.