The abnormally bright weather continued in an unbroken spell, and it seemed to her a part of the miracle that had been granted to her prayers—as if nature had suddenly abrogated all laws, and when giving her back love and youth, had given warmth and sunshine to the whole world.
One afternoon, as they were sauntering home to the hotel, he asked her if there was not some special name for this snatch of unseasonable autumn brightness.
"It's more than we had a right to expect, Janey, so late in the year. Here we are in the first week of November, and I'll swear to-day has been as warm as May or June."
"Yes, hasn't it?"
"But what do they call it when the weather plays tricks at this time of year? You know—not the Hunter's moon, but some name like that."
"Oh, yes, I know what you mean—St. Martin's summer."
"That's right—learned old girl! St. Martin's Summer."
Then they turned to the shop windows, and considered the window-dressing art as displayed by these Brighton tradesmen. All through their honeymoon the King's Road shops provided a source of unfailing entertainment.
"I don't see that they know much," he said patronisingly. "I think I could open their eyes. You wait, old girl, till we get back to Mallingbridge, and I'll astonish you. I'm bubbling over with ideas.... Halloa! That's rather tasty."
They were looking into a jeweller's window, and his eye had been caught by a cigarette case.