'Well?'
'She's gone into the kitchen to get the jam,' proceeded the voice rapidly. 'Shall I let you out?'
'Pray do not trouble,' said Frederick coldly. 'I am perfectly comfortable.'
Silence followed. Frederick returned to his reverie. About now, he thought, but for his brother George's treachery in luring him down to this plague-spot by a misleading telegram, he would have been on the twelfth green at Squashy Hollow, trying out that new putter. Instead of which....
The door opened abruptly, and as abruptly closed again. And Frederick Mulliner, who had been looking forward to an unbroken solitude, discovered with a good deal of astonishment that he had started taking in lodgers.
'What are you doing here?' he demanded, with a touch of proprietorial disapproval.
The girl did not answer. But presently muffled sounds came to him through the darkness. In spite of himself, a certain tenderness crept upon Frederick.
'I say,' he said awkwardly. 'There's nothing to cry about.'
'I'm not crying. I'm laughing.'
'Oh?' The tenderness waned. 'You think it's amusing, do you, being shut up in this damned cupboard....'