"So there'll be something to eat next winter." "Are you tired, Helena ?" "Not at all," she said, sitting up suddenly.

"What were we talking about ?--oh, pheasants.

Do you think we really shall starve next winter, Geoffrey, as the Food Controller says ?" "I don't much care!" said French.
Helena bent forward.
"Now, you're cross with me, Geoffrey! Don't be cross! I think I really am tired.

I seem to have danced for hours." The tone was childishly plaintive, and French was instantly appeased.

The joy of being with her--alone--returned upon him in a flood.
"Well, then, rest a little.