'Get me a wrap of some kind, Mr. Greybrooke,' she said, with such sweet imperiousness that the captain went without a word. Half-way he stopped to call himself a fool, for he had remembered all at once about Raleigh and his cloak, and seen how he might have adapted that incident to his advantage by offering to put his own coat round Nell's shoulders.
It was well that Greybrooke did not look back, for he would have seen Miss Meredith take Rob's arm—which made Rob start—and lead him in the direction in which Miss Abinger was supposed to have gone.
'The literary life must be delightful,' said artful Nell, looking up into her companion's face.
Rob appreciated the flattery, but his pride made him say that the literary life was not the reporter's.
'I always read the Mirror,' continued Nell, on whom the moon was having a bad effect to-night, 'and often I wonder who writes the articles. There was a book-review in it a few days ago that I—I liked very much.'
'Do you remember what the book was?' asked Rob, jumping into the pit.
'Let me see,' said Nell, putting her head to the side, 'it was—yes, it was a novel called—called The Scorn of Scorns.'
Rob's good angel was very near him at that moment, but not near enough to put her palm over his mouth.
'That review was mine,' said Rob, with uncalled-for satisfaction.
'Was it?' cried his companion, pulling away her arm viciously.