"Thank you! I know what that means--from a Venturist.

You think me a mean insincere person!" He started, then recovered himself and came to lean against the bookshelves beside her.
"I mean nothing of the sort," he said, in quite a different manner, with a sort of gentle and personal emphasis.

"But--may I explain myself, Miss Boyce, in a room with a fire?
I can see you shivering under your fur." For the frost still reigned supreme outside, and the white grass and trees threw chill reflected lights into the forsaken library.

Marcella controlled a pulse of excitement that had begun to beat in her, admitted that it was certainly cold, and led the way through a side door to a little flagged parlour, belonging to the oldest portion of the house, where, however, a great log-fire was burning, and some chairs drawn up round it.

She took one and let the fur wrap she had thrown about her for their promenade through the disused rooms drop from her shoulders.