"Ah, this is unalloyed," he cried, sipping it later on.
"The coffee?"
"Yes, and everything. We don't foresee the bright days any more than the dark ones. I did not dream of this in Virginia."
"You are easily satisfied. The coffee is smoky, the lunch is cold, winter is coming, and—"
"And I am very happy," he said.
"It would be a pity to disturb your serenity."
"Nothing shall disturb it to-day. Peace is one of the rarest experiences in this world. I mean only to remember that our armies are disbanded and that you are at rest, like Nature."
She had brought a little book of autumn poems, and after lunch read to him for an hour, he listening with the same expression of quiet satisfaction. As the day declined, she shivered slightly in the shade. He immediately arose and put a shawl around her.
"You are always shielding me," she said gently.
"One can do so little of that kind of thing," he replied, "not much more than show intent."