"Believe me, fair but haughty, the old fool has taken no hurt. Distant as we were, I could hear his oaths of encouragement, while the post-boys sawed as they had never sawed before. From the way they were doing it, I shouldn't think they ever had." "But they will soon procure a new linchpin. Is that right? And, oh, Adam, they may be here any moment." "Not so, my poppet. To get a linchpin, they must find a smith. All the smiths within a radius of thirty miles are drunk. Yes, me again. A man has to think of all these little things. I say, we're giving the walls the time of their life, aren't we? Have another cigarette?" "After which I must go to bed." "As you please, Mistress Eve," said I, reaching for a live coal to give her a light. For a little space we sat silent, watching the play of the flames. Then she spoke slowly, half her thoughts elsewhere: "You never told me your fairy tale, Adam." "I expect you know it," said I. "It's all about the princess a fellow found in the snow, and how he took her to his home for shelter, and set her on her way in the morning, and then spent his poor life trying to find her again. Anyway, one doesn't tell fairy-tales to fairies, and--and I'd rather you watched the fire. He'll tell you a finer story than ever I could. At least--" "Yes?" "Well, he's a bold fellow, the fire. He'll say things that I can't, Eve. He'll praise, thank, bless you all in a flash. See what he says for a moment. Remember he's speaking for me." "Praise, thank, bless," she repeated dreamily. "Does he ever ask anything in return?" "Never," said I. For a full moment she sat gazing into the flames. Then she flung her cigarette into the grate and jumped to her feet before I had time to help her. "Bed-time," she cried. "Mine, at any rate. "I'll see you to your room," said I, lighting one of the candles. Then I picked up her grey fur coat and laid it over my arm. "Adam," said Eve. I looked up and across at her, standing straight by the other side of the hearth, the leaping flames lighting her tumbled hair. One foot was on the kerb, and her left hand hitching her dress in the front a little, as women do. The other she held, palm downwards to the blaze, warming it. I marked the red glow between its slight fingers, making them rosy. Her eyes still gazed into the fire. "Yes," said I. "If Jill were here, Adam, would you kiss her good night?"