She was shamed and angry as she had never been shamed and angry before.
Horace leaned forward and gazed eagerly at her.

After all, was he mistaken?
He was shrewd enough, although he did not understand the moods of women very well, and it did seem to him that there was something distinctly encouraging in her tone.

Just then the night wind came in strongly at the window beside which they were sitting.
An ardent fragrance of dewy earth and plants smote them in the face.
"Do you feel the draught ?" asked Horace.
"I like it." "I am afraid you will catch cold." "I don't catch cold at all easily." "The wind is very damp," argued Horace, with increasing confidence.
He grew very bold.

He seized upon one of her little white hands.

"I won't believe it unless I can feel for myself that your hands are not cold," said he.