The man turned, and with two steps towards her, said:
“Launa, darling!”
He put his arms round her, and then walked on her snowshoes, nearly knocking her over, and Launa lay in his arms; her feet were most uncomfortable, one snowshoe was on its side.
“Paul!” she gasped.
His thick blanket coat against her mouth prevented conversation.
“Come back to ‘Solitude,’ ” he said; “it is too cold and too stormy for you to be out.”
He took her hand, and they trudged on for the greater part of the way in silence; it was too windy to talk, and neither knew when the other spoke unless their heads were close together.
At “Solitude” Paul undid her snowshoes and his own, then they went into the hall, all bright with a huge fire and flowers. Paul put his arms round her and kissed her. She was covered with snow.
“I must go. Let me go, Paul; you will stay. There are things you can put on in the dressing-room; but I must get them for you. I want to tell you about him.”
“I don’t want to know anything. He was a beast; you are mine now. I am not wet, Launa; you have forgotten the snow is dry. Even Mrs. Grundy could not turn a man out on a dark night, with the thermometer at zero and a gale blowing.”