She made an involuntary sound with her foot, and he was awake and erect in a moment, stirred like a watch-dog by the least noise.
“Jethro!” she said humbly.
“Pamela—Cousin Pamela! You’ve come to Folly Corner at last.”
He was on his feet, at her side. He stooped and kissed her lightly, conventionally—the lukewarm kiss of a relative, to whom a kiss has no background. He seemed to regard it as the proper thing to do—proper, and perfectly safe. That matter-of-fact kiss of his made her more wildly miserable than many of Edred’s blows had done.
“You’ve come!” He looked behind her, a curious, questioning glance, as if he were waiting for the second indispensable figure. But the door was closed; she offered no explanation.
“How cold and wet you are!” He ran his hand down her coat. “Take that thing off. I’ll ring for tea; you could always drink tea at any moment. You see I remember—everything.”
He had his hand out to the bell—bells had been added to the old place with other things. She put out her chilled hand and tapped him lightly on his hairy wrist, where the skin was so white.
“Not just yet. No one saw me come in. I’m cold. I had a terrible walk.”
“But you didn’t come alone! Where is Edred? If he couldn’t leave his business you should have wired. I would have driven to the station. I would have brought the new Battlesden. You know you had set your heart on one. I bought it soon after you went away. It’s only been used once. Did Edred——”
“Sit down,” she said, with another light touch. “Oh! this fire is glorious.” She turned up the hem of her skirt and let the warmth touch her icy ankles.