It was dreadfully cold, quite unnaturally cold even for the time of year.
She looked longingly towards the fireplace.

It was now concealed by the washhand-stand, but how pleasant it would be to drag that stand aside and light a bit of fire, especially as Bunting was going to be out to-night.

He would have to put on his dress clothes, and she didn't like his dressing in the sitting-room.

It didn't suit her ideas that he should do so.

How if she did light the fire here, in their bedroom?
It would be nice for her to have bit of fire to cheer her up after he had gone.
Mrs.Bunting knew only too well that she would have very little sleep the coming night.