“It wouldn’t be much of a game for me to guess that , Gerda,” he said with all the lightness he could assume. “Careful! Careful, now!” his fighting-spirit whispered to his excited nerves. “If you make the least false move she’ll have you at a disadvantage.”

“Why not?” The girl approached him, as she spoke, giving him a long, scrutinizing glance. “What’s the matter, Wolf? Is anything wrong?” She laid both her hands on his coat, clutching its unbuttoned flaps and tightening them round him with a gesture that was at once imperative and cajoling.

“I met Bob Weevil just now,” he murmured, trying to give the words a natural tone, and smoothing out every sign of treachery from his face.

But with incredible rapidity, even while she was lifting up her chin and opening her lips, the self-protective demon in him cursed him for a blundering fool. “Why did you blurt that out?” said the demon.