“I have a room with a real stove in it over the station. I’ll build a fire, and you must take off your wet things and go to bed and sleep. If you need anything you can hammer on the floor.”
“But you—”
“I’ll be in my office, below. I’m on night duty to-night,” said he, tactfully fabricating.
“Very well. You’re awfully kind.”
He adjusted the oil-stove, threw a warmed blanket over her feet, and hurried to his room to build the promised fire. When he came back she smiled.
“You are good to me! It’s stupid of me—my head is so queer—did you say you were—”
“The station-agent. My name is Banneker. I’m responsible to the company for your safety and comfort. You’re not to worry about it, nor think about it, nor ask any questions.”
“No,” she agreed, and rose.
He threw the blanket around her shoulders. At the protective touch she slipped her hand through his arm. So they went out into the night.
Mounting the stairs, she stumbled, and for a moment he felt the firm, warm pressure of her body against him. It shook him strangely.