"And yet—" he mused craftily.
"Never!" She fell blindly into his trap. "I promised myself long ago that if ever I became a wife—"
"But you are no wife," he countered.
"Hugh!"
"You are Mrs. Whitaker—yes; but—"
"Dear, you are cruel to me!"
"I think it's you who would be cruel to yourself, dear heart."
She found no ready answer; was quiet for a space; then stirred, shivering. Behind them the fires were dying; by contrast a touch of chill seemed to pervade in the motionless air.
"I think," she announced, "we'd better go in."
She rose without assistance, moved away toward the house, paused and returned.