She looked up at him with dancing eyes; she had quite forgotten her sorrow of the morning. Somehow this man's presence always cheered her and took her out of herself. She poured tea for him, and laughed and chatted away merrily.
Afterwards they sat over the fire and talked.
Christine said she could see faces in the red coals; she painted them out to Kettering.
He had to stoop forward to see what she indicated; for a moment their heads were very close together; it was Christine who drew back sharply.
"Oughtn't we to be going home?" she asked with sudden nervousness.
She rose to her feet and went over to the window; the sunshine had gone, and the country road was grey and shadowy. Kettering's big car stood at the kerb. After a moment he followed her to the window; he was a little pale, his eyes seemed to avoid hers.
"I am quite ready when you are," he said.
She was fastening her veil over her hat; her fingers shook a little as she tied the bow.
Kettering had gone to pay for the tea; she stood looking after him with dawning apprehension in her eyes.
He was a fine enough man; there was something about him that gave one such a feeling of safety—of security. She could not imagine that he would ever deliberately set himself to hurt a woman, as—as Jimmy had. She went out to the car and stood waiting for him.