Velvet.

I see a small white chalet with a garden near the pine forests. I see it all very simple, with big white china stoves and a very pleasant woman with a tanned face and sun-bleached hair bringing in the coffee. I see winter — snow and a load of wood arriving at our door. I see us going off in a little sleigh — with huge fur gloves on, and having a picnic in the forest and eating ham and fur sandwiches. Then there is a lamp, there are our books. It's very still. The frost is on the pane. You are in your room writing. I in mine. Outside the stars are shining and the pine trees are dark like velvet.

Katherine Mansfield, from a letter to J.M. Murry