Then they emerged on the side of the hill beside a little basin in the chalk, where a gnarled thorn or two, an overhanging beech, and a bed of withered heather, made a kind of intimate, furnished place, which appealed to the passer-by.
"Here is the sunset," said Marsham, looking round him.

"Are you afraid to sit a little ?" He took a light overcoat he had been carrying over his arm and spread it on the heather.

She protested that it was winter, and coats were for wearing.

He took no notice, and she tamely submitted.

He placed her regally, with an old thorn for support and canopy; and then he stood a moment beside her gazing westward.
They looked over undulations of the chalk, bare stubble fields and climbing woods, bathed in the pale gold of a February sunset.