"Hugo!" she said. "Hugo!"

I could only repeat her name and regard her helplessly.

"Hugo," she said, "I am cold. Take me upstairs. I am chilled
through and through."

"Oh, but Teresa," I expostulated, "it wouldn't be right. You know
it wouldn't be right. You might be seen."

She laid her hand, her ungloved, icy hand, against my cheek.

"I have been here an hour," she said. "Take me to your rooms. I am
freezing."

I led her up the stairs and to my little apartment. I seated her
before the fire, turned up the lights, and stood and looked at
her.

"What have you come here for?" I said. "I've paid your father--
paid him a month ago."

She made no answer, but spread her hands before the fire and
shivered in the glow. She kept her eyes fixed on the coals in
front of her and put out the tips of her little slippered feet.
Then I perceived that she was in a ball gown and that her arms
were bare under her opera cloak.

At last she broke the silence.