snow; imagine the absurdity of it!"

"But who are they?"

"They speak of themselves as 'friends,' as if it were a profession. The
wounded one was a passenger, I suppose."

"But what are they like?" continued Kate. "I suppose they're like them
all."

Mrs. Hale shrugged her shoulders.

"The wounded one, when he's not fainting away, is laughing. The other is
a creature with a moustache, and gloomy beyond expression."

"What are you going to do with them?" said Kate.

"What should I do? Even without John's letter I could not refuse the
shelter of my house to a wounded and helpless man. I shall keep him,
of course, until John comes. Why, Kate, I really believe you are so
prejudiced against these people you'd like to turn them out. But I
forget! It's because you LIKE them so well. Well, you need not fear to
expose yourself to the fascinations of the wounded Christy Minstrel--I'm
sure he's that--or to the unspeakable one, who is shyness itself, and
would not dare to raise his eyes to you."

There was a timid, hesitating step in the passage. It paused before the
door, moved away, returned, and finally asserted its intentions in the
gentlest of taps.