"Let him rip," suggested Jerry. "Give the accused a chance!"
Errington laughed more naturally. He was rapidly regaining his usual
self-possession.
"Jerry, you're a good pal, but a bad adviser. Get thee behind me."
Steps sounded on the stairs outside. Adrienne and Mrs. Adams had come
back, and Errington turned composedly to greet them, the veil of
reticence, momentarily swept aside by the surge of a sudden emotion,
falling once more into its place.
CHAPTER XI
THE YEAR'S FRUIT
Spring had slipped into summer, summer had given place again to winter,
and once more April was come, with her soft breath blowing upon the
sticky green buds and bidding them open, whilst daffodils and tulips,
like slim sentinels, swayed above the brown earth, in a riot of tender
colour.
There is something very fresh and charming about London in April. The
parks are aglow with young green, and the trees nod cheerfully to the
little breeze that dances round them, whispering of summer. Even the
houses perk up under their spruce new coats of paint, while every
window that can afford it puts forth its carefully tended box of
flowers. It is as though the old city suddenly awoke from her winter
slumber and preened herself like a bird making its toilet; there is an
atmosphere of renewal abroad--the very carters and cabmen seem
conscious of it, and acknowledge it with good-humoured smiles and a
flower worn jauntily in the buttonhole.
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