With trembling hand Mr. Labouchere flung open the window. The room was stifling.
There was a smell of new-mown hay in the air, a gentle breeze tipped the well-trimmed hedge with life, and the walks crackled in the heat.
But a stone's throw distant the sun was bathing in the dimpled Thames.
There was a cawing of rooks among the tall trees, and a church-bell tinkled in the ivy far away across the river.
Mr. Labouchere was far away too.
He was a round-cheeked boy again, smothering his kitten in his pinafore, prattling of Red Riding Hood by his school-mistress's knee, and guddling in the brook for minnows.
And now—and now!
It was a beautiful world, and, ah, life is sweet!
He pressed his fingers to his forehead.
"Leave me," he said hoarsely.