With lagging feet she climbed the stairs and entered her sitting-room.
A bright fire was burning there, and the lamp was alight.

A little thrill of purely physical pleasure went through her at the sight.

She paused to take off her hat, then went forward and stooped to warm her hands at the blaze.
She was certainly very tired.

The arm-chair by the hearth was invitingly near.

She sank into it with a sigh and closed her eyes.
It must have been ten minutes later that the door, which she had left ajar, was pushed open, and Jeff stood on the threshold.
He was carrying a steaming cup of milk.