“Here’s my cottage,” said Anne, in a slightly surprised tone. “I didn’t know we were so near. Come in and Regina will get us some supper. Then you can rest awhile before returning home.”
One foot on the step, he looked up at her, as she stood on the porch above him.
“No, the play is over, the lights are out. I must return to my hut and—” beneath his breath—“my devils.”
Although he had already turned about, Anne heard.
“Your devils can get along perfectly well without you. Besides I have one myself. Let us share them together. Come, I see we need each other badly tonight.”
Compassionate beneath her light manner, she caught him by the back of the coat with both hands, and pulled him forcibly about. “Besides, I have your mackintosh and your sweater. You mustn’t be so reckless with your property.”
He followed her up the steps with obvious reluctance. She opened the door and drew him in through the glowing aperture.
“See, there’s a fire,” she cried gaily. “And after supper I’ll play to you.” She pointed to an upright in the corner. “I can play even on an old country piano,” she boasted.
And then she saw his face. It was paler than the hands which sought to conceal it.
“No, no music! Never again!” he muttered. He fell weakly into the nearest chair, and with a low moan laid his head on the arm.