"Not when the snow is hard."
Peggy went reluctantly. "I think he is perfectly lovely," she said, at a safe distance. "Don't you?"
Anne's reply was guarded. "He is very kind. I am glad that he doesn't mind about the Twelfth Night play, Peggy."
Richard spoke to David of Anne as the two men, a few minutes later, climbed the hill toward David's house.
"She seems unusual."
"She is the best teacher we have ever had, but she ought not to be at Bower's. She isn't their kind."
David's little house, set on top of a hill, was small and shabby without, but within it was as compact as a ship's cabin. David's old servant, Tom, kept it immaculate, and there were books everywhere, old portraits, precious bits of mahogany.
From the window beside the fireplace there was a view of the river. It was a blue river to-day, sparkling in the sunshine. David, standing beside Richard, spoke of it.
"It isn't always blue, but it is always beautiful. Even when the snow flies as it did yesterday."
"And are you content with this, Cousin David?"