even the drama
columns--everything except the science meetings in the _Athenaeum_.
This took, roughly, half-an-hour each day and the lonely time so
occupied, he told Helena when he explained his ways to her, was devoted
to "keeping in touch with the modern movements." There is no one
English word for the Italian _siesta_.

Then came the part of the day to which Helena looked forward; the
afternoon, when they took ever such long tramps with Spook, the small
white Aberdeen, across the wide free heath, and so home to tea beside a
comfortable fire. Helena could almost hate his work when at the stroke
of five he would get up, more stern by now than in the sleepy morn, and
leave her with the statutory kiss. And when it rained, so that this
jolliest part of the day was lost and he said in a masculine way that
it would be a chance to do some letters (instead of having fun
indoors!), she would sit by the drenched windows and look out through
the jerky raindrops with all the pathetic grievance against Fate of
children in a seaside lodging on wet holidays.

This was a shorter bout of work and dinner was generally not later than
half-past seven, though there were times of course when it had to be
later. This led to Hubert's prophecy about the change of cooks not
being too far from inspired.

After dinner was the other jolly time, if Hubert had worked well. If
things had gone badly, he would mope and say that he was going to grow
cabbages instead and silly things like that, which worried her because
she knew he never would; but if a good sheaf of written paper was in
his hand, he would read it to her, while she sat against his legs upon
the hearthrug, and when she had said how good it was, they talked of
other things--he talked so well--and it was all as comfy as could be in
their own little home, and, oh, so different from Devonshire!

Sometimes she felt guilty about her poor mother, down there all alone
among those stodgy people; but she wrote to her every Sunday, and
sometimes on other days if Hubert was silent and gloomy (without of
course letting her know why she wrote).

His moods puzzled her a good deal in those first days, but she supposed
all really clever men were a bit odd or they would not be clever.
Certainly it was curious that Hubert, who was so strong and splendid in
most ways, was so awfully easily pleased or upset by anything about his
books. Any success made him as cheery as could be and they would go