At once he was his courteous self. With the same motion he dumped the astonished cat from the cushioned chair by the writing table, and drew it forward to the fire. Then he threw on a fresh stick of pine that flared up in a bright blaze, and with deferring gentleness took the sweater that hung from her shoulders and hung it to dry over a section of tree-trunk that served as a chimney seat.
"You are as welcome to my hut as any princess to her palace," he smiled on her, "indeed, it is yours while you choose to stay in it!"
"Don't you think," she made reply, as he drew another chair up opposite to her, "that under the circumstances we might dispense with fine speeches? It is hardly, I suppose, what one would call a usual situation, is it?"
He looked at her as she stretched her small feet comfortably to the blaze, her face quite unconcerned.
"No," he acquiesced, "it certainly is not usual—or I should hate it—the 'usual' is what I fly from!"
She threw back her head, clasping her hands behind it as she laughed. She seemed to luxuriate as frankly in the heat and the dryness as the cat between them.
"And I"—she turned the comprehension of her eyes upon him—"I cross the ocean every year in the same flight!"
The storm drove leaves and flying branches against the window, while they sat, for what seemed a long time, in contented silence. He found himself as openly absorbing her charm as if she had been a tree or a mountain sunset, while she was making further tours of inspection with her eyes about the room.
"It is entirely adorable," she smiled at him, "but it piques my curiosity!'
"Ask all the questions you wish—no secrets here."