“Oh no, Major, please don’t; please don’t mention it to him; oh no, please don’t; he would be very vexed. I shall be all right; I will go on at once and dry myself.” “You cannot go alone. I will see you as far as your house. Here, take my coat and put it over your shoulders.” The Major took off a heavy cloak with capes, wrapped it round her, drew her arm through his, and they went to her lodgings. She forgot Zachariah, Caillaud, and Pauline. When they arrived she returned the cloak and thanked him. She dared not ask him upstairs and he made no offer to stay. “Please say nothing to my husband; promise you will not. He would be in such a way if he thought I had been out; but I could not help it.” “Oh, certainly not, Mrs. Coleman, if you wish it; though I am sure he wouldn’t, he couldn’t be angry with you.” She lingered as he took the coat. “Come inside and put it on, Major Maitland; why, it is you who are dripping now. You will not wear that over your sopped clothes. Cannot I lend you something? Won’t you have something hot to drink?” “No, thank you. I think not; it is not so bad as all that.” He shook hands with her and had gone. She went upstairs into her dark room. The fire was out. She lighted no candle, but sat down just as she was, put her head on the table, and sobbed as if her heart would break. She was very seldom overcome by emotion of this kind, and used to be proud that she had never once in her life fainted, and was not given to hysterics. Checked at last by a deadly shivering which came over her, she took off her wet garments, threw them over a chair, and crept into bed, revolving in her mind the explanation which she could give to her husband. When she saw him, and he inquired about her clothes, she offered some trifling excuse, which seemed very readily to satisfy him, for he made scarcely any reply, and was soon asleep. This time it was her turn to lie awake, and the morning found her restless, and with every symptom of a serious illness approaching. CHAPTER XIII TO THE GREEKS FOOLISHNESS