CHAPTER IV
KISS WHEN SHE’S RIPE FOR TEARS
It was the Sunday after Leslie’s visit. We had had a wretched week, with everybody mute and unhappy.
Though Spring had come, none of us saw it. Afterwards it occurred to me that I had seen all the ranks of poplars suddenly bursten into a dark crimson glow, with a flutter of blood-red where the sun came through the leaves; that I had found high cradles where the swan’s eggs lay by the waterside; that I had seen the daffodils leaning from the moss-grown wooden walls of the boat-house, and all, moss, daffodils, water, scattered with the pink scarves from the elm buds; that I had broken the half-spread fans of the sycamore, and had watched the white cloud of sloe-blossom go silver grey against the evening sky: but I had not perceived it, and I had not any vivid spring-pictures left from the neglected week.
It was Sunday evening, just after tea, when Lettie suddenly said to me:
“Come with me down to Strelley Mill.”
I was astonished, but I obeyed unquestioningly.
On the threshold we heard a chattering of girls, and immediately Alice’s voice greeted us:
“Hello, Sybil, love! Hello, Lettie! Come on, here’s a gathering of the goddesses. Come on, you just make us right. You’re Juno, and here’s Meg,
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