'Oh, no!' she protested.
'But you are. Put this muffler round your neck.' He took a muffler from his pocket.
'Oh, no, really! You will need it yourself.' She drew a little away from him, as if to avoid the muffler.
'Please take it.'
She did so, and thanked him, tying it loosely and untidily round her throat. That feeling of the untidiness of the muffler, of its being something strange to her skin, something with the rough virtue of masculinity, which no one could detect in the gloom, was in itself pleasant.
'I wager Mrs. Sutton has a good fire burning when we get in,' he said.
She thought with joyous anticipation of the warm, bright, sitting-room, the supper, and the vivacious good-natured conversation. Though the walk was nearly at an end, other delights were in store. Of the holiday, thirteen complete days yet remained, each to be as happy as the one now closing. It was an age! At last they entered the human cosiness of the village. As they walked up the steps of their lodging and he opened the door for her, she quickly drew off the muffler and returned it to him with a word of thanks.
On Monday morning, when Beatrice and Anna came downstairs, they found the breakfast odorously cooling on the table, and nobody in the room.
'Where are they all, I wonder. Any letters?' Beatrice said.
'There's your mother, out on the front—and Mr. Mynors too.'