"Come, now, Miss Drake, you spoil the fairy tale. You did intend to come here. It was the only place for you to go—and I'm glad of it. My only regret is that the house isn't filled with chaperons."
"Why?" she demanded with a guilty start.
"Because I could then say to you all the things that are in my heart—aye, that are almost bursting from my lips. I—I can't say them now, you know," he said, and she understood his delicacy. For some minutes she sat in silence watching him as he clumsily mixed the drinks and put the water over the alcohol blaze. Suddenly he turned to her with something like alarm in his voice. "By George, you don't suppose they'll pursue you?"
"Oh, wouldn't that be jolly? It would be like the real story-book—the fairy and the ogres and all that. But," dubiously, "I'm sorely afraid they consider me rubbish, Still—" looking up encouragingly—"my brother would try to find me if he—if he knew that I was gone."
To her surprise, he whistled softly and permitted a frown of anxiety to creep over his face. "I hadn't thought of that," he observed reflectively. Then he seemed to throw off the momentary symptoms of uneasiness, adding, with a laugh: "I daresay nothing will happen. The storm would put a stop to all idea of pursuit."
"Let them pursue," she said, a stubborn light in her eyes. "I am my own mistress, Mr. Shaw. They can't take me, willy nilly, as if I were a child, you know."
"That's quite true. You don't understand," he said slowly, his back to her.
"You mean the law? Is it different from ours?"
"Not that. The—er—situation. You see, they might think it a trifle odd if they found you here—with me. Don't you understand?" He turned to her with a very serious expression. She started and sat bolt upright to stare at him comprehensively.
"You mean—it—it isn't quite—er—"