“Do let me give it to the rooms,” she said, going up to him and putting her hand on his arm lightly, pleadingly. “I shall be so disappointed.”
“You know I don’t want you to give me things,” he repeated helplessly.
“I don’t want to give you things,” she said teasingly. “But will you have this?”
“All right,” he said, defeated, and she triumphed.
They went upstairs. There were two bedrooms to correspond with the rooms downstairs. One of them was half furnished, and Birkin had evidently slept there. Hermione went round the room carefully, taking in every detail, as if absorbing the evidence of his presence, in all the inanimate things. She felt the bed and examined the coverings.
“Are you sure you were quite comfortable?” she said, pressing the pillow.
“Perfectly,” he replied coldly.
“And were you warm? There is no down quilt. I am sure you need one. You mustn’t have a great pressure of clothes.”
“I’ve got one,” he said. “It is coming down.”
They measured the rooms, and lingered over every consideration. Ursula stood at the window and watched the woman carrying the tea up the bank to the pond. She hated the palaver Hermione made, she wanted to drink tea, she wanted anything but this fuss and business.