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This is the fourth time since Easter," I remarked.
We had planned a sedate country jaunt, but as the day was pouring
wet we remained at home.
"Perhaps this is the way the _bon Dieu_ has of expressing his
disapproval of us," said Judith.
"Why should he disapprove?" I asked.
A shrug of her shoulders ended in a shiver.
"I am chilled through."
"My dear girl," I cried, "why on earth haven't you lit the fire?"
"The last time I lit it you said the room was stuffy."
"But then it was beautiful blazing sunshine, you illogical
woman," I exclaimed, searching my pockets for a match-box.
I struck a match. To apply it to the fire I had to kneel by her
chair. She stretched out her hand--she has delicate white hands
with slender fingers--and lightly touched my head.
"How long have we known each other?" she asked.
"About eight years."
"And how long shall we go on?"
"As long as you like," said I, intent on the fire.
Judith withdrew her hand. I knelt on the hearthrug until the
merry blaze and crackle of the wood assured me of successful
effort.


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