He got to the cottage at about eleven o'clock. Miriam was busy preparing
dinner. She looked so perfectly in keeping with the little kitchen,
ruddy and busy. He kissed her and sat down to watch. The room was small
and cosy. The sofa was covered all over with a sort of linen in squares
of red and pale blue, old, much washed, but pretty. There was a stuffed
owl in a case over a corner cupboard. The sunlight came through the
leaves of the scented geraniums in the window. She was cooking a chicken
in his honour. It was their cottage for the day, and they were man and
wife. He beat the eggs for her and peeled the potatoes. He thought she
gave a feeling of home almost like his mother; and no one could look
more beautiful, with her tumbled curls, when she was flushed from the
fire.
The dinner was a great success. Like a young husband, he carved. They
talked all the time with unflagging zest. Then he wiped the dishes she
had washed, and they went out down the fields. There was a bright little
brook that ran into a bog at the foot of a very steep bank.
Pages:
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599