So Peter found himself sitting in front of a big wood-fire, drinking a cup of coffee decidedly better in quality than his home-brew. Blank walls ceased to have any particular value for the time.
In a moment Miss De Voe joined him at the fire. A small table was moved up, and a plate of fruit, and a cup of coffee placed upon it.
“That is all, Morden,” she said. “It is so nice of you to have come this evening. I was promising myself a very solitary time, and was dawdling over my dinner to kill some of it. Isn’t it a dreadful night?”
“It’s blowing hard. Two or three times I thought I should have to give it up.”
“You didn’t walk?”
“Yes. I could have taken a solitary-car that passed, but the horses were so done up that I thought I was better able to walk.”
Miss De Voe touched the bell. “Another cup of coffee, Morden, and bring the cognac,” she said. “I am not going to let you please your mother to-night,” she told Peter. “I am going to make you do what I wish.” So she poured a liberal portion of the eau-de-vie into Peter’s second cup, and he most dutifully drank it. “How funny that he should be so obstinate sometimes, and so obedient at others,” thought Miss De Voe. “I don’t generally let men smoke, but I’m going to make an exception to-night in your case,” she continued.
It was a sore temptation to Peter, but he answered quickly, “Thank you for the thought, but I won’t this evening.”
“You have smoked after dinner already?”
“No. I tried to keep my pipe lighted in the street, but it blew and sleeted too hard.”