He paused, grasping the balustrade, and with some difficulty managed to articulate:
"Here ... coming...."
"Hurry. Everything's ready."
Waiting an instant to steady his nerves, he descended and reëntered the kitchen.
The meal was waiting—on the table. The woman, too, faced him as he entered, waiting in the chair nearest the stove. But, once within the room, he paused so long beside the door, his hand upon the knob, and stared so strangely at her, that she moved uneasily, grew restless and disturbed. A gleam of apprehension flickered in her eyes.
"Why, what's the matter?" she asked with forced lightness. "Why don't you come in and sit down?"
He said abruptly: "You called me Hugh!"
She inclined her head, smiling mischievously. "I admit it. Do you mind?"
"Mind? No!" He shut the door, advanced and dropped into his chair, still searching her face with his troubled gaze. "Only," he said—"you startled me. I didn't think—expect—hope—"
"On so short an acquaintance?" she suggested archly. "Perhaps you're right. I didn't think.... And yet—I do think—with the man who risked his life for me—I'm a little justified in forgetting even that we've never met through the medium of a conventional introduction."