Her companion opened the kitchen door and they stomped in out of the rain.
“There’s a fire in the library grate,” Anne chattered, leading the way to an adjoining room. “Thank goodness I built it before I left.”
They huddled before the glowing embers of the fireplace and Anne tossed on a fresh log which quickly blazed up.
“We can’t stand around in wet clothing,” she observed, looking appraisingly at Madge. “You’re my size. I’ll see what I can find for you.”
Waiting for her to return, Madge gazed curiously about the library which was lined to the ceiling with books. The fireplace gave the room a cheerful appearance but she could not fail to notice the threadbare rug, the scanty furniture.
“Strange,” she thought, “I always understood the Fairadays were well-to-do.”
Her reflection was cut short by Anne’s return. She had found a change of clothing for Madge who accepted it gratefully. After hanging up their garments to dry, the girls made coffee, sipping it luxuriously before the fire. As they chatted, Anne brought up the subject of the rescue and in halting phrases tried to thank Madge.
“Please don’t thank me,” the latter protested. “It was nothing. Only if I were you, I’d certainly learn to swim.”
“I should,” Anne acknowledged ruefully. “I’ve always wanted to but never had the chance. Until lately, Father took so much care.”
Madge nodded sympathetically and after explaining that she had only that day learned of Mr. Fairaday’s death, invited Anne to stay at the Brady lodge.