"Why, Paul! What in the world do you mean?"
"I mean I haven't the pleasure of your acquaintance, and naturally I have a little curiosity about a visitor at this hour."
For a second or two she gazed at him steadily, her lips parted. "Are you drunk, Paul?" she demanded finally.
"I'm not drunk. I simply don't know you. Why should I?"
"You don't know your own sister!" she exclaimed in a vibrant intense tone. Then she took a backward step, as if she feared him.
"My sister is in Boston." He stared at her with a frown and folded his arms. "What's your little game, anyway?"
"You don't know your own sister!" she repeated helplessly. Then she staggered back and sunk into a chair, hiding her face in her hands, and began to weep.
"You are not my sister, and you know it as well as I do! What do you want here, anyway?" he demanded, still standing, staring at her.
"Why, I want to stay here, of course! I've just come from Boston to visit you!" She suddenly sprang up. "The idea! It's a stupid practical joke you're playing on me, of course. Come, Paul, drop it, please! I'm tired, and want to go to bed. Where are you going to put me?"
"I'm going to put you outdoors!" he retorted.
"In this awful blizzard?" she demanded. She smiled sadly through her tears. The effect was really dazzling; but Van Asten kept his head.
He stopped and reflected for a few moments. Then,
