"Why, Ted, how awfully _sweet_ of you!" in a soft and very unexpected rush. "Fancy taking all that trouble! Bite your head off? Why, I think it was just lovely of you!" His glum face cleared. "And my head’s gone! gone! gone!" she laughed. He glanced at it inquiringly. "Oh, well, the ache thereof." Presently she sighed loudly and with suggestive reproach. "To think that all the time nice, cross, comfy you were there behind me! I wish I’d known!" He compressed his lips humorously. "Don’t be mean!" she laughed. "More tea?" As she handed him his cup:— "Ted, you’re not to be feeling superior just because I got into a muddle and you pulled me out! If it had been a bog now, it would have been the other way about! But yellow fog, and—" she gave a little shudder—"the newspaper boys! But I ask you, how was a sane person, in other words, an Irish person, to guess that omnibuses would refuse to allow dogs in them? All the same," softly, "I’m feeling just now that man is a noble animal, and woman a mere headless and rudderless cipher. But I warn you it won’t last." "Wish it would," he said, giving K.K. a piece of cake. "Ah, then, you are feeling superior! Ted, what would you have done if I had had hysterics when I caught sight of you? Oh, I’m so happy!" "Eat something," he urged. She looked round the room, then out at the fog, and smiled on him. He looked at her with sudden seriousness. "Nell, remember another time if you’re in a hole—" "The hole doesn’t exist that’ll ever get a chance of seeing me again!" She dismissed it airily. "Well, anyhow, when that frame of mind’s worn off—" "You mean when I’m in a howling temper again," she interpolated, pursing her mouth. "Perhaps. Well, remember, _take a hansom_!" "But I couldn’t. I’d only sixpence with me." "Doesn’t matter. You pay up the other end. You could get it when you arrived." "Oh, do you? I didn’t know. You don’t in omnibuses." "No, you don’t in omnibuses." She rested her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands. "Shall I try to thank you, Ted?" He flushed in horror. "Good Lord, no! I say, have another cake." She laughed softly. "I don’t want any more, thanks. I—" "Do have some more tea." She shook her head. "If you’ll let me speak—" "You might give me some more, will you?" She poured it out. "I’m only trying to assure you I won’t thank you!" she managed to say. "I won’t, really. You’ve been too nice. I’ll do just whatever you wish." "Um!" he grunted. She settled her elbows on the table again. She looked out straight before her, and her face grew thoughtful. There was a little silence. Then she looked at him and smiled; it was an odd little smile, half-humorous, half sad.