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She was smiling, her eyes were soft and tranquil. All traces of the passing tempest were gone. "Sit down, draw this big chair up to the fire, do. It IS raw and nasty today, isn't it? I think the Mallons are coming out in an open car. Isn't it too bad?" "Bad for the curls," he drawled. "Mind if I smoke?" "Certainly not. Don't you know that by this time?" He had drawn a chair up beside hers.
The poor Mallons will be chilled to the bone." He smiled to himself as he took the long hickory logs from the wood box and placed them carefully on the fire. He had seen the swift flood of colour mount to her cheeks, and the odd little waver in her eyes before she turned them away. She was at the window, looking out, when he straightened himself and gingerly brushed the wood dust from his hands.
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