ly up the steps; at the top he acknowledged her help with a
grateful look, but neither spoke until he was seated in a chair by
the kitchen fireplace.

Then she withdrew her attention for a moment to glance round upon the
clumsy appliances and masculine untidiness of the place. She noticed
that fully half the window-panes had been shattered by the explosion;
but otherwise the house had barely suffered.

"Is there any brandy or whiskey in the house?"

He shook his head.

"If you want to drink--" he began, but stopped hastily and added, "I
beg your pardon."

"Is there any tea?"

He pointed to the cupboard, but dropped his arm with a groan.
She was at his side in a moment.

"Now, listen to me. You are not to stir or speak, but only to nod or
shake your head when I ask a question. Do you understand?"

He nodded.

"That's right."

She stepped to the cupboard, produced the tea and a box of matches;
then, stooping down, rekindled the fire with the help of some sticks
which she found in the oven, and put the kettle on the flame.
This done, she sought and found the tea-things.

"Milk?" she asked.

He nodded towards a blue jug on the mantel-shelf.

"Milk on the mantel-shelf! That's like a man."

But at this point the kettle began to boil. She filled the tea-pot,
and replaced the kettle on the hob. As she turned, she was aware of
a clearer look in Mr. Fogo's eyes. She smiled and nodded.

"You are better."

"Much. I can remember it all, after a fashion. Did I talk
nonsense?"

"A little." She smiled again.

His eyes followed her as she moved about the kitchen. Presently he
said--

"You are very good to me."

"I think I am."

"Tamsin--"

She turned suddenly to the table, and caught up the teapot.

"Do you know," she asked, "that tea is worthless if it stands for
more than five minutes?"

She filled a cup, and gave it to him with a hand that trembled
slightly. He sipped, and scalded his lip.

"Tamsin--"

"My name is Dearlove," she said shortly, "and you are spilling the
tea."

There was silence for a minute or so. Mr. Fogo stirred his tea
abstractedly. Tamsin, whose shoes were soaked, put one foot upon the
fender, and bent her gaze upon the fire.

"I would give something," observed Mr. Fogo suddenly, in desperate
reverie, "to know how other people manage it. It was moonlight when
I proposed to Geraldine. I began by squeezing her hand, if I
remem--"

He looked up, and found her