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 ful season, the kind of season that makes England the flower garden of the world. Nature showered her blessings with unexampled prodigality: no suspicion of a shadow came to cloud the clear way of existence. There were near at hand a hundred pleasant places; each day they discovered some fresh surprise. The world and all that belonged to it seemed so far away that they never even caught the echo of its roaring. It was as though they had moored their boat in a forgotten backwater of life, and the great stream of the world rolled on as oblivious of them as they of it.

Andromeda had made up her mind to be happy, and to ensure that happiness she let no opportunity escape. Day after day she planned little excursions in the woods, or among the heathlands. Sometimes they took their luncheon with them and lay for hours in the sunshine among the sweet-smelling clover, the bees humming soft music to the flowers. Sometimes they penetrated into undiscovered places and took tea in quaint, old-fashioned inns with sanded floors. Mentally or physically she never seemed to tire. Of all women in the world she was to him the most wonderful.