“Mrs. Temperley is pleased to deride me. Craddock Dene must shrivel under destroying blasts like these.”
“Not so much as one might think.”
The sound of their steps on the broad avenue smote sharply on their ears. Their absurd-looking shadows stretched always in front of them. “A splendid night,” Hadria observed, to break the silence.
“Glorious!” returned her companion, as if waking from thought.
“Spring is our best season here, the time of blossoming.”
“I am horribly tempted to take root in the lovely district, in the hope of also blossoming. Can you imagine me a sort of patriarchal apple-tree laden with snowy blooms?”
“You somewhat burden my imagination.”
“I have had to work hard all my life, until an unexpected legacy from an admirable distant relation put me at the end of a longer tether. I still have to work, but less hard. I have always tried not to ossify, keeping in view a possible serene time to come, when I might put forth blossoms in this vernal fashion that tempts my middle-aged fancy. And where could I choose a sweeter spot for these late efforts to be young and green, than here in this perfect south of England home?”
“It seems large,” said Hadria.
Professor Theobald grinned. “You don’t appear to take a keen interest in my blossoming.”