"You are quite right, I am cold," she said softly; "starving with cold; and you can never know how charming and attractive your fire looks to me, but—after all, the best seat is already taken isn't it?"
Bramham stared hard at her, swallowing something. This was the first time his wife had been mentioned between them. She did not falter.
"Don't you think I am nice enough to have a fireside of my very own?" She spoke with the soft bird note in her throat, and her smile was a wistful thing to see.
Bramham's other firm hand came down on hers, and gave it a great grip.
"By Jove! I do. And I hope you'll get the best going."
A wave of grateful warmth rushed over the girl at his words. Her eyes filled with tears.
"Thank you; thank you!" she cried brokenly; and added, on a swift impulse: "The fire I want seems to me the most wonderful in the world—and if I can't be there, I'll never sit by any other."
She did not attempt to stanch her tears, but sat looking at him with a smiling mouth, while the heavy drops fell down her cheeks. Bramham thought that, because of the smile, he had never seen any woman look so tragic in his life.
"Don't cry; don't cry, dear!" he said distressfully. "I can't bear to see a woman cry. Do you love someone, Rosalind?" he asked, using her name shyly.
"Yes, Charlie," she said simply; "I do. But there is a knife in my heart." She turned from him now, and looked away, that he might not see the despair and humiliation in her face.