"Me?" asked Lettice, opening her eyes.
"You. It's not much fun sittin' here alone and thinkin' about things—is it?" said Denis; and to her wide amazement he put a brotherly arm round her and kissed her cheek. Lettice turned slowly and deeply pink; not on account of the kiss, however. She took her lamp and stood torch-bearer to light him down the stairs. When the quick military tread had reached the lower landing she was turning back to her room, but a quick scuffle in the cupboard and a breathless voice stopped her.
"Lettice—wait!"
And Dorothea scrambled out from among the brooms and brushes, bringing a shower of them with her. "Oh, bother!" said she, turning to stuff them back unceremoniously, and precipitating a fresh avalanche. Lettice found her voice again.
"You—you've got a black on your nose," she remarked originally.
"So would any one have, in this horrid little hole! I'd just reached the landing when your door opened, and I bundled straight in here, and all the things fell every which way, and I had to clutch them up in both hands all the time. I made sure you'd hear."
"I did," said Lettice, "but I thought it was Black Maria."
"Well, I'd be Black Maria if I could, I know you'd like me better," retorted Dorothea, expending the last of her temper in a spiteful kick at a pail, and slamming the door before more disasters could happen. "But oh, Lettice, oh, Lettice, isn't it glorious news?"
"You heard what we were saying?"