"I—don't know."
"Leave the blind up so that I can see if you're alone."
She made no answer, and when she had run lamely up the track, she turned at the door to see her husband still standing in the road.
Lily met her in the hall and said, "Mrs. Caniper's asleep, and she's better, my dear. She seems happier, somehow. So George Halkett brought you home. A good thing, too. Come into the kitchen and get warm. I'll make some tea and toast for you. You're frozen. Here, let me take off your boots. Sit down."
"I can do it, thank you."
"But you're going to let me, just to please me."
Helen submitted and lay back. "You look nice with the firelight on you."
"Hadn't that man a rug?"
"What? Oh, yes, yes." The warmth and peace of the kitchen were almost stupefying. She shut her eyes and felt soft slippers being pushed on to her feet; the singing of the kettle became one sound with the howling of the wind, and Lily's voice dragged her from the very brim of sleep.
"Here's a slice, and the kettle's boiling. A good thing John isn't here! He says it's the water, not the kettle."