Suddenly she saw a dark figure coming nearer. It was a man. “Good-night,” she said as they passed. She doubted if he could hear, the wind crashed by them, it roared over their heads and howled behind them.
The man turned, and with two steps towards her, said:
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.
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.”
When she came down he was waiting. He came towards her. She loved him, he loved her; was there anything in the world she needed now?
“You have forgiven me?” he said, and he kissed her.
“Well, you know I do not like—much kissing.”
“I have observed that with regret, or rather I hear you say it with sorrow; for since I came I have kissed you several times and you—”
“Yes,” she interrupted, “but do you not think we had better be careful? It might get—common, we might grow accustomed to it, and not—like it as much.”
“Tell me how you got here?” she asked. They were sitting by the tea-table. “The roads are blocked, and it snowed all night as well as to-day.”
“Changing the subject rapidly was always one of your accomplishments. Kissing and roads—I see the connection to you.”
“I started to drive,” he answered. “At last we stuck in a drift near Montague’s; so I came on snowshoes.”