"It has been a dreadful night," said the girl, "but it is nobody's
fault."

"Of course it is somebody's fault," answered Geoffrey. "It must be. Do
you mean to tell me no one is to blame when I have been sitting all
night with my feet on the fender, and you--"

"Certainly," said she with an extraordinarily wide, sweet smile, "I
could wish we might have changed places."

"I wish to Heaven we might," returned Geoffrey, and meant it. Never
before had he yearned to bear the sufferings of another. He had often
seen that it was advisable, suitable just that he should, but burningly
to want to was a new experience.

"Thank you," said the girl, "but I'm afraid there is nothing to be
done."

"Nothing to be done!" He dropped on his knees before the black monster
of a stove, "Do you suppose I'm here to do nothing?"

"You are here, I think, for shelter from the storm."

It had not occurred to him before that she looked upon him as a chance
wanderer.

"That shows your ignorance of the situation. I am here to rescue you. I
left my fireside for no other reason. As I came along I said at every
blast, 'that poor, poor girl.' I set out to bring you to safety. I begin