The colouring, white, ebony, and satinwood, looked nicer
even than she had hoped. Out in the garden--her own garden--the
pear-trees were thickening, but not in blossom yet; a few daffodils were
in bloom along the walls, and a magnolia had one bud opened. And all the
time she kept squeezing the puppies to her, enjoying their young,
warm, fluffy savour, and letting them kiss her. She ran out of the
drawing-room, up the stairs. Her bedroom, the dressing-room, the spare
room, the bathroom--she dashed into them all. Oh, it was nice to be in
your own place, to be--Suddenly she felt herself lifted off the ground
from behind, and in that undignified position, her eyes flying, she
turned her face till he could reach her lips.
III
To wake, and hear the birds at early practise, and feel that winter is
over--is there any pleasanter moment?
That first morning in her new house, Gyp woke with the sparrow, or
whatever the bird which utters the first cheeps and twitters, soon
eclipsed by so much that is more important in bird-song. It seemed as if
all the feathered creatures in London must be assembled in her garden;
and the old verse came into her head:
"All dear Nature's children sweet
Lie at bride and bridegroom's feet,
Blessing their sense.
Not a creature of the air,
Bird melodious or bird fair,
Be absent hence!"
She turned and looked at her husband.
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