"What? Oh, yes, yes." The warmth and peace of the kitchen were almost stupefying. She shut her eyes and felt soft slippers being pushed on to her feet; the singing of the kettle became one sound with the howling of the wind, and Lily's voice dragged her from the very brim of sleep. "Here's a slice, and the kettle's boiling. A good thing John isn't here! He says it's the water, not the kettle." "How fussy of him!" "But he's right." "Always?" "Not a bit of it." "I'm glad of that. Would it have made much difference to you if you hadn't married him?" "D'you think I don't care enough for him?" "Of course I don't." "Now look, you've made me burn the toast." "Scrape it. I wanted to know--how much he filled of you." "I don't know. I never thought about it. I wouldn't have been lovesick, anyway. I had my work to do." "I expect that's how men feel. I sometimes think nothing's worth struggling for." "Oh, but it is. I'm always fighting. I saved two lambs last week." "That's different. I meant--for happiness. People struggle and get nothing. It's such a little life. Seventy years, perhaps. They pass--somehow." "But if you've ever had the toothache, you know how long an hour can be. What's the matter with you?" "I'm just thinking." "Unhappy?" "No." "When will Zebedee be back?" "In about ten days." "Are you feeling he'll never come?" "I'm sure he'll come." "Well then--" "Perhaps it's the wind," Helen said. "You're very good to me." "Oh, I'm fond of you," Lily said. "Are you fond enough to kiss me?" Helen asked. She wanted a touch at which she need not shudder, and surely it was fitting that some one should kiss her on her wedding-day. CHAPTER XXX Soon after nine o'clock, Helen bade Mildred Caniper and the nurse good-night and went downstairs with Jim close at her heels. "We're going to sit in the kitchen, James. I'll get my sewing." She hesitated at the window: the night was very dark, but she could see the violent swaying of the poplars, and she thought the thickening of their twigs was plain and, though it was April already, it was going to snow. She touched the tassel of the blind, but she did not pull on it, for she would not anger George with little things, and she left the window bare for his eyes and the night's. "Keep close to me, Jim," she said as she sat and sewed, and she stroked him with a foot. She could hear no sound but the raging wind, and when the back door was opened she was startled. "It's me," George said as he entered. "I didn't hear you coming." "I've been looking through the window for a long time." He went to the fireside. "Didn't you know? I hoped you'd be looking out for me, but you weren't anxious enough for that." "Anxious?" "Well--eager." "Of course I wasn't. Why should I be?" "You're my wife--and wives--" "You know why I married you, George." "You're married, none the less." "I'm not disputing that." "I suppose you despise me for--getting what I wanted."