"Lucky it's a warm night," he said cheerfully, while Warner spread the coat over Philippa, where she lay exhausted, tremulous, and close to tears. The girl who had never whimpered when fear, timidity, and indecision meant instant disaster, now lay huddled against his knees, shaking in every limb, crushing back the tears that burned her eyes and her throat, striving to master the nerves that clamored for relief.
Warner bent over her, close, touching her disheveled hair:
"It's all right now," he whispered. "I shall not let you go again until you want to.... It's all right now, Philippa. I'll stand your friend always—as long as you need me—as long as you—want me.... Don't worry about a home; I'll see to it. You are going to have your chance."
One of her crossed hands groped blindly for his, closed over it convulsively, and her breath grew hot with tears.
"It's a long way to Tipperary," remarked Halkett cheerily. "Tell me about it when you're ready, old chap."
CHAPTER XIX
About seven o'clock the next morning Halkett knocked at Warner's door, awakening him.
"The cavalry are passing, if you'd care to see them," he said.
Warner got out of bed, found his slippers and a bathrobe, and opened the door. Halkett, fully dressed in the field uniform of a British officer, came in.
"Hello!" exclaimed the American in surprise. "What does this mean?"