"Those are the people who look to us to help them in their fight against terrible odds.
I hoped--that you would be interested in them." She looked down curiously at the little wooden huts, half-buried in the snow; the smoking chimneys; the twinkling, curtainless windows.
"What do you expect me to do ?" she asked in a queer voice.
He looked at her in a sort of wonderment.

Perhaps it seemed to him that a woman should have no need to ask such a question.
"It is a long story," he said; "I will tell you about it another time.
You are tired now, after your journey." His arm slipped from her waist.

They stood side by side.

And both were conscious of a feeling of difference.

They were not the same as they had been in London.