There was a dim light in the room showing the fine inlaid furniture, the flowery paper, the chintz-covered arm-chairs and sofa, and, through an open door, part of the tiled wall of the bathroom.
Miss Cookson had never slept in such a room before, and every item in it pleased a starved sense in her.

Poverty was _hateful_! Could one never escape it?
Then she closed her eyes, and seemed to be watching Sir William and Nelly in the gardens, his protecting eager air--her face looking up.

Of _course_ she might have married him--with the greatest ease!--if only George Sarratt had not been in the way.
But supposing-- All the talk that evening had been of a new 'push'-- a new and steady offensive, as soon as the shell supply was better.

George would be in that 'push.' Nobody expected it for another month.

By that time he would be back at the front.