His wife was
playing the piano. Mr. Bosengate looked at the water and the flat dark
water lily leaves which floated there; looked up at the house, where
only narrow chinks of light showed, because of the Lighting Order. The
dreamy music drifted out; there was a scent of heliotrope. He moved a
few steps back, and sat in the children's swing under an old lime tree.
Jolly--blissful--in the warm, bloomy dark! Of all hours of the day, this
before going to bed was perhaps the pleasantest. He saw the light go up
in his wife's bed room, unscreened for a full minute, and thought: 'Aha!
If I did my duty as a special, I should "strafe" her for that.' She came
to the window, her figure lighted, hands up to the back of her head, so
that her bare arms gleamed. Mr. Bosengate wafted her a kiss, knowing he
could not be seen. 'Lucky chap!' he mused; 'she's a great joy!' Up went
her arm, down came the blind the house was dark again. He drew a long
breath. 'Another ten minutes,' he thought, 'then I'll go in and shut up.
By Jove! The limes are beginning to smell already!' And, the better to
take in that acme of his well-being, he tilted the swing, lifted his
feet from the ground, and swung himself toward the scented blossoms.
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