“But tell me—how—where did you come from?”
“From town. Let me stand in your kitchen, or somewhere.”
“You’re wet through. I can’t offer you much change.”
“Not as wet as when you first met me, Dennison,” she said, with a smile. “I have a good waterproof, but my hat blew off. It’s somewhere on the road. I couldn’t see through the windshield, so I put my head out, and away it went.”
“The hat?”
Then both laughed, and an atmosphere that had been tense began to settle back to normal. Grant led her out to the living-room, removed her coat, and started a fire.
“So you drove out over those roads?” he said, when the smoke began to curl up around the logs. “You had your courage.”
“It wasn’t courage, Dennison; it was terror. Fear sometimes makes one wonderfully brave. After I saw Frank off I went to the hotel. I had a room on the west side, and instead of going to bed I sat by the window looking out at the storm and at the wet streets. I could see the flashes of lightning striking down as though they were aimed at definite objects, and I began to think of Wilson, and of you. You see, it was the first night I had ever spent away from him, and I began to think....
“After a while I could bear it no longer, and I rushed down and out to the garage. There was just one young man on night duty, and I’m sure he thought me crazy. When he couldn’t dissuade me he wanted to send a driver with me. You know I couldn’t have that.”
She was looking squarely at him, her face strangely calm and emotionless. Grant nodded that he followed her reasoning.