"But it's not your bed, Winnie."
"I don't like it to be yours, Winthrop."
He was busy laying a slice of ham on the coals and putting a skillet of water over the fire; and then coming to her side he began, without speaking, and with a pleasant face, to untie the strings of her bonnet and to take off that and her other coverings, with a gentle sort of kindness that made itself felt and not heard. Winnie bore it with difficulty; her features moved and trembled.
"It's too much for you to have to take care of me," she said in a voice changed from its former expression.
"Too much?" said Winthrop.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"It's too much. Can you do it?"
"I think I can take care of you, Winnie. You forget who has promised to take care of us both."
She threw her arms round his neck exclaiming, "I forget everything! —"