"A man's an ass to linger anywhere north of the equator," he
grumbled. "Dickybirds have more sense." And again he thought of the
wood fire in the club and the partly empty but steaming glass, and
the aroma it had wafted toward him; and the temperature it must have
imparted to "Bill."

He was immersed in arctic gloom when at length the car stopped. A
butler admitted him to a brown-stone house, the steps of which had
been thoughtfully strewn with furnace cinders.

"Miss Erith?"

"Yes, sir."

"Announce Mr. Vaux, partly frozen."

"The library, if you please, sir," murmured the butler, taking hat
and coat.

So Vaux went up stairs with the liveliness of a crippled spider, and
Miss Erith came from a glowing fireside to welcome him, giving him a
firm and slender hand.

"You ARE cold," she said. "I'm so sorry to have disturbed you this
evening."

He said:

"Hum--hum--very kind--m'sure--hum--hum!"