This was defeat. For the first time she, too, saw him for what he was—'Spirit-of-Iron.'
Before she quite realized what he was doing, he pushed her gently into the big chair and called:
"Blythe!"
Suppressing a yawn, bringing back the sound, easy atmosphere of everyday life to the room, Blythe appeared.
"Yessir?"
"Mrs. MacFarlane missed her way in the blizzard. I want you to escort her home. Then you can go."
She allowed him to put on her wraps. She was still dazed.
"Good-night," he said pleasantly, extending his hand, "Pleased to have been of service."
His manner gave Blythe no inkling of what had happened.
"Good-night," she murmured, mechanically giving him her hand.