The Scarlet Runner
"What's sixty miles to the Scarlet Runner?" she asked persuasively.
He hesitated and looked longingly at the great red fire—at the glow it cast on Diana's hair and pleading eyes. Through the hall door, waiting ajar for him, a gust of keen wind rushed to dissuade him. The Scarlet Runner was for the moment speechless.
"Do the sporting thing, Georgie."
"It's not a sporting thing to let the county lose a match because they haven't got another full-back, and their own man fails them at the last minute."
"You never fail people," she said, "in your games."
He regarded her with a suspicion which reluctantly changed to admiration.
"It's a beastly cold night," he murmured.
She rose and laughed.
"Ah, do stay. You'll enjoy the run in the morning. It'll make you fit for the match. Stay, Georgie, stay. Don't refuse everything I ask you—"
167
