Eliot’s voice, rather grave but with the ghost of a quiver in it which might have betokened some inward amusement, sounded above her head. Then, as she still struggled vainly to move the recalcitrant latch, he went on quietly:
“Are you trying to run away from me—or what?”
Ann straightened herself and made a snatch at her fugitive dignity.
“No—oh, no,” she said, endeavouring to steady her flurried tones. Her heart was still playing tricks, throbbing jerkily in her side, and her breath came unevenly. “Only you startled me. I thought you were a tramp.”
She fancied he concealed a smile in the darkness.
“Not very complimentary of you,” he answered composedly.
“It wasn’t, was it? I’m so sorry,” she agreed in eager haste. “Have you come to see Robin? I’m afraid he’s out. He said he should be back rather late to-night.”
“No,” he replied evenly, “I’ve not come to see Robin.” Then, with a sudden leap in his voice: “I came to see you, Ann.”
“To see me?” she murmured confusedly.
“Yes. Am I to tell you all about it out here in the cold, or may I come in?”