Best of all, the wearing, transitional days between winter and spring passed, and the romance and perennial wonder of that renewal of Nature began to unfold itself before their enchanted eyes. The spirit of life which had lain dormant, hibernating through the winter like the soft, furry, bright-eyed creatures of the woods, began to stir and wake. A million crocuses were the opening of its eyes, and the smile on its mouth was the flush of green that came up in points of tender grass through the gray rubbish of the withered autumn. Birds knew that life was waking again, and preened themselves, thinking of the mating-time and the nests in the safe-swaying trees, and by night, in shadow of the woods, the shy beasts began to prowl again. The stir and whisper of spring broke the long silence of winter, and in the very sky itself, after the frozen brilliance of the frost, the white fleecy clouds seemed to rustle as they sailed across the blue, even as their shadows whispered as they passed over the earth. Spring entered into the hearts and brains of men, and schemes and new hopes awoke; they went more briskly about their business, and, as golden day succeeded golden day, Edith again made progress and fought more vigorously with her foe, and again did more than stay its advance, making it retreat.
Hugh’s birthday came on the last day of the month, and for the past fortnight during which she had been progressing favourably, she had racked her brain to think of a suitable present for him. She had also racked her brain to find reasons which would make him go to England for a few weeks, and see his friends, and refresh himself generally. She had tried many such without bringing conviction to him; she had told him that selfishly and for her own sake she longed for him to go to Mannington and see how it looked. Nobody else but he could bring her a real report of it, for he only, besides herself, knew what Mannington meant. Peggy sometimes wrote of it, but Peggy said it looked charming, and that the river was full, and that the beeches were beginning to come out. That was all futile; it did not mean anything. Then, again, one day Hugh had toothache, and she implored him just to run over to London and get his teeth looked at. Instead, with a rueful face indeed, he went down to the village and had the offending tooth pulled out by a cabinet-maker with a strong wrist.
But eventually she hit on a plan, combining his birthday present with a lure to lead him home, and wrote to Messrs. Thomas Cook, from whom, the day before his birthday, she received a small packet, in a neat green cloth cover, and she went through the contents. Yes, that was all right. First class Davos to Sargans, to Zurich, to Bâle, to Paris, to Calais or Boulogne (how thoughtful of Mr. Cook!), to Dover or Folkestone, to London. Also London to Mannington. And returns available for thirty days from date of issue. Only thirty? She had meant to say forty-five. He must start without any delay.
She slipped the packet into an envelope, sealed it, and wrote a little birthday inscription outside, directing that it was to be given him when he was called in the morning with his other letters. This was artful, for she herself did not appear till lunch; he would have had several hours to think about it in, with the hard, convincing sight of the tickets themselves before him. But the evening before she could not help alluding to the fact that she had a present for him.
“I couldn’t think of one for ever so long,” she said. “But I thought at last of the one thing you really wanted.”
“Oh, I want to guess; may I guess?”
“Yes, as long as you like, and I shall say ‘no’ whether you guess right or wrong.”
“Shall I like it?” asked Hugh.
Edith considered.
“Yes; very much indeed,” she said. “It will also be extremely good for you.”