Suddenly from the garden came Concha’s voice singing:
I’m so jolly glad to meet you!
I’m so jolly glad you’re glad!
Then one of the French-windows burst open, and in she came, all blown by March winds, a bunch of early daffodils in her hand, and, behind her, ’Snice, his paws caked with mud.
She made Teresa think of the exquisite conceit in which Herrick describes a wind-blown maiden:
She lookt as she’d been got with child
By young Favonius.
“Hallo! When did you arrive? It was such a divine morning I had to go for a walk. You poor creature—you do look thin. Oh dear, I must have a cigarette.”
Her unnecessary heartiness probably concealed a little embarrassment; as to him—he was perfectly calm, grave, and friendly.
Then Dick came in: “Hallo! How are you, Munroe? So sorry I wasn’t about when you arrived—had to go down to the village to see the parson. We’ll have to fatten you up while you’re here—shan’t we, Concha? I don’t know whether we can rise to haggis, but we’ll do our best.”