"Here." McTaggart reached up, unhooked a pale grey coat beside his own and handed it with a mischievous smile to his wife.
"That's not mine." Jill stared.
"Yes, it is. Try it on."
"Peter!" Jill passed a hand lovingly over the rich fur, the beautiful collar of chinchilla and sumptuous lining—warm and soft.
"It's a little present. I had it made. Aunt Elizabeth got the measures. D'you like it?"
Jill's face answered him. She could not speak, for very wonder.
"Really mine?" she said at last. "I never saw such lovely fur! Oh, Peter! how extravagant. You mustn't spoil me like this..."
"I expect payment—of a kind!" He took it—(with interest.) "Now, slip it on. There—that's fine! You look like a little Teddy bear." He opened the door and the bright light swept in, dazzling them. Blue sky and blue sea and a fresh wind, salt and keen.
Far behind them lay the coast, the broad waves rolling along to the French shore and that new life they faced with the confidence of youth.
"The first time," said McTaggart—"that I really knew how pretty you were, you had on a little grey fur cap. That's why I chose chinchilla for you."