But then the tea came in, a real Westmorland meal, with its toasted bun, its jam, and its 'twist' of new bread; and Nelly Sarratt forgot everything but the pleasure of making her husband eat, of filling his cup for him, of looking sometimes through the window at that shining lake, beside which she and George would soon be roaming--for six long days.

Yes, and nights too.

For there was a moon rising, which would be at the full in two or three days.
Imagination flew forward, as she leant dreamily back in her chair when the meal was over, her eyes on the landscape.

They two alone--on that warm summer lake--drifting in the moonlight--heart against heart, cheek against cheek.

A shiver ran through her, which was partly passion, partly a dull fear.