“You must go to bed early tonight,” she said, turning aside her face, ruffling his soft black hair. He stretched slightly, stiffening his arms, and smiled without answering. It was a very keen pleasure to be thus alone with her and in her charge. He rose, bidding her wrap herself up against the fog.
“You are sure you’re not too tired?” she reiterated.
He laughed.
Outside, the sea-mist was white and woolly. They went hand in hand. It was cold, so she thrust her hand with his into the pocket of his overcoat, while they walked together.
“I like the mist,” he said, pressing her hand in his pocket.
“I don’t dislike it,” she replied, shrinking nearer to him.
“It puts us together by ourselves,” he said. She plodded alongside, bowing her head, not replying. He did not mind her silence.
“It couldn’t have happened better for us than this mist,” he said.
She laughed curiously, almost with a sound of tears.
“Why?” she asked, half tenderly, half bitterly.