"You should have put on your slippers, dear, and your dressing-gown. Sit on my lap and warm your feet."
Theresa ran her finger down her mother's pretty nose.
"Aren't you coming to bed soon?"
"Not for a long time. It isn't half-past eight."
"Then will you leave this door open, and I'll leave mine. Then you won't seem so far away."
"You won't expect it every night?"
"No; just to-night."
"Very well. You must go now."
"I'll carry her up." Edward Webb took off his coat and wrapped it round her. The three faces were very close together, and Theresa felt the hastiness of her mother's kiss and the half-unwilling urging of her hands.
"Go, go; you ought to be asleep."