"I was conversing with Kit-Ki a moment ago," he protested, in such a tone of deep reproach that Eileen laughed while her maid relieved her of furs and scarf.
"Susanne, just unhook those two that I can't manage; light the fire in my bedroom; et merci bien, ma petite!"
The little maid vanished; Kit-Ki, who had been unceremoniously spilled from Selwyn's knees, sat yawning, then rose and walked noiselessly to the hearth.
"I don't know how I happened to do it," he muttered, still abashed by his plight.
"We rekindled the fire for your benefit," she said; "you had better use it before you retire." And she seated herself in the arm-chair, stretching out her ungloved hands to the blaze—smooth, innocent hands, so soft, so amazingly fresh and white.
He moved a step forward into the warmth, stood a moment, then reached forward for a chair and drew it up beside hers.
"Do you mean to say you are not sleepy?" he asked.
"I? No, not in the least. I will be to-morrow, though."
"Did you have a good time?"
"Yes—rather."