It was Daphne’s last day in London. She wondered as she looked out over the sunny gardens, with their new birth of green leaves and neatly ordered flowers, why the country should take possession of her, and if the riches it gave would really compensate for the riches she must lose. If it had been a little later in the season, and she had not been in mourning, perhaps she would not have wondered at this. It is only when we cannot do what we want, that what we can do becomes such a drudgery.…
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