"Are you comfortable at the Temperance?" she asked. "Because if you don't much care for hotels we would love to put you up here. Mhor is apt to be noisy, but I'm sure he would try to be quiet when he knew that you needed a rest."
"My dear young lady," gasped Peter Reid. "I'm afraid you are rash. You know nothing of me. I might be an impostor, a burglar—"
Jean threw back her head and laughed. "Do forgive me, but the thought of you with a jemmy and a dark lantern is so funny."
"You don't even know my name."
"I don't," said Jean, "but does that matter? You will tell it me when you want to."
"My name is Reid, the same as your landlord."
"Then," said Jean, "are you a relative of his?"
"A connection." It was not what he meant to say, but he said it.
"How odd!" said Jean. She was trying to remember if she had said anything unbecoming of one relative to another. "Oh, here's Jock and Mhor," as two figures ran past the windows; "you must stay and have tea with us, Mr. Reid."
"But I ought to be getting back to the hotel. I had no intention of inflicting myself on you in this way." He rose to his feet and looked about for his hat. "The fact is—I must tell you—I am——"