She sat up, suddenly erect.

‘I hate it,’ she said. ‘I hate the snow, and the unnaturalness of it, the unnatural light it throws on everybody, the ghastly glamour, the unnatural feelings it makes everybody have.’

He lay still and laughed, meditating.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘we can go away — we can go tomorrow. We’ll go tomorrow to Verona, and find Romeo and Juliet, and sit in the amphitheatre — shall we?’

Suddenly she hid her face against his shoulder with perplexity and shyness. He lay so untrammelled.

‘Yes,’ she said softly, filled with relief. She felt her soul had new wings, now he was so uncaring. ‘I shall love to be Romeo and Juliet,’