As he said this, a sudden child-like smile lighted up the somber face. Anne decided it would be ridiculous not to stay. After all, the young brute could not eat her. It was only a few weeks since she had recovered from summer flu and she shrank from inviting another attack of the insidious enemy. Besides, in spite or perhaps because of his haggard young impudence, there welled up from her subconscious a primitive desire to see the adventure to the finish. And as she watched the slight figure busying itself at the hearth, she was smitten with a vague sense of familiarity. Where had she seen that pale face, those uptilted, faunlike eyebrows? That classic throat, which rose columnar from the négligée shirt? And above all, those hands, those square, elongated fingers? In some ancient bronze or marble? She took the chair nearest the hearth and stretching her hands to the blaze, watched his impassive features as the firelight played upon them. "That's right," he said non-committally, "better take off your sweater, it's dripping. I'll lend you one in the meanwhile." With a quick gesture, he lighted the lamp upon the table, and opening a drawer in the ramshackle bureau, drew out a heavy wool sweater, and with a casual gesture, threw it about her shoulders. "What a beauty!" She met his indifference with an amused smile as she caressed the smooth texture. The eyes beneath the heavy lids mocked her. She realized with amused dismay that he evidently thought she was trying to flirt with him. "I'm going to make tea," he said abruptly. "All women like tea." His voice was contemptuous. The callow brutality roused her sense of humor. She removed her hat and ran her hands through hair which glistened like burnished chestnuts in the firelight. She smiled as she caught his eyes resting upon it unwillingly. "What have women done to you?" she inquired softly. He gave her a quick, menacing look. "You are tyrants, all of you," he sneered savagely. "Greedy for everything. For money, flattery, love, especially love. Insatiable! Demanding, always demanding but--I promised you tea, I believe." He finished somewhat lamely, and striding to the cupboard produced a tin, a loaf of bread and some butter. She looked at him from beneath inscrutable lashes. "I'm sorry you're unhappy," she said simply. "We are all unhappy," he evaded. He poured water into the dingy kettle hanging over the fire. "You are unhappy because you are wet, and like a civilized lady want your tea. I am unhappy because my head aches most damnably! For me there is no help but time, but for you there is orange pekoe." She laughed. "For a soulless creature like a woman there is always food, eh?" she teased. "But a masculine intellect demands only spiritual sustenance?" He laughed more naturally, as he met her mocking glance. "I must seem an awful fool to you," he said somewhat sheepishly. She shook her head, still smiling.