“Now, come along. We’ll have tea. I felt sure you were coming to-day, so I ran out to get some of those cakes you liked so much.”
It was a fancy of his that she should always make the tea herself. The room was growing dark. She looked very graceful, tenderly delicate, as she knelt on the hearth-rug, the firelight playing hide-and-seek in her hair and the folds of her dress. Her eyes looked dreamy as she stared into the blaze, waiting for the kettle to boil up, which she had set on the fire, too impatient to wait for the spirit-lamp to do its work.
It was not until she had settled herself cozily into the deep armchair that he broke the silence.
“How would you like to spend a month or so down at Rottingdean? I’ve got a small cottage there; very comfortable, very lonely and very quiet.”
The unexpected question startled her. The proposal upset all her schemes, and the call for an immediate reply tried her skill.
“What made you think of it?” she asked, temporizing.
“Well, I thought it might be—pleasanter, if we kept out of sight for a while.”
“Oh, I see! I see! Do you like the idea?”
“I rather do. I’d like anywhere with you; best of all, anywhere, we should always be together.”
“Until——”