Grace.
Not if you saw it for three meals a day for ten years? Oh, my dear, you don’t know what that view is like at an early breakfast on a winter’s morning. You sit there looking at it, with icy fingers, wondering if your nose is red, while your husband reads morning prayers, because his father read morning prayers before him; and the sky looks as if it were going to sink down and crush you.
Claude.
You can’t expect sunshine all the year round, can you?
Grace.
[Smiling.] True, O King!
Edith.
Well, I’m a Cockney, and I feel inclined to fall down on my very knees and worship those big trees in your park. Oh, what a night!
Miss Vernon.
In such a night as this,
When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees
And they did make no noise....