above it she had set a turkis sky splashed here and there with little
clouds that were like whipped cream; and upon it she had scattered
largesse, a Danaë's shower of buttercups. Altogether, she had made of
it a particularly dangerous meadow for a man and a maid to frequent.
Yet there Mr. Woods paused under a burgeoning maple--paused
resolutely, with the lures of Spring thick about him, compassed with
every snare of scent and sound and colour that the witch is mistress
of.
Margaret hoped he had a pleasant passage over. Her father, thank you,
was in the pink of condition. Oh, yes, she was quite well. She hoped