of sunshine and
the absurd childish little gushes of rain, skimming the green country
like a frown.

"Truly a time for joy and idleness."

"If only," said Hadria, when Professor Theobald thus grew enthusiastic
on the subject, "if only my cook had not given a month's notice."

She would not second his mood, be it what it might. Each day, as they
passed along the lanes, the pale green had spread, like fire, on the
hedges, caught the chestnuts, with their fat buds shining in the sun,
which already was releasing the close-packed leaflets.

Hadria (apparently out of sheer devilry, said Professor Theobald) kept
up a running commentary on the season, and on her hapless position,
bound to be off on the chase for a cook at this moment of festival. Nor
was this all. Crockery, pots and pans, clothes for the children, clothes
for herself, were urgently needed, and no experienced person, she
declared, could afford to regard the matter as simple because it was
trivial.

"One of the ghastliest mistakes in this trivial and laborious world."

Valeria thought that cooks had simply to be advertised for, and they
came.

"What _naivete!_" exclaimed Hadria. "Helen was persuaded to cross the
seas from her Spartan home to set Troy ablaze, and tarnish her fair
fame, but it would take twenty sons of Priam to induce a damsel to come
over dry land to Craddock Dene, to cook our dinners and retain her
character."

"You would almost imply that women don't so very much care about their
characters," said Valeria.

"Oh, they do! but sometimes the dulness that an intelligent society has
ordained as the classic accompaniment to social smiles, gets the better
of a select few--Helen _par exemple_."

It frequently happened that Hadria and Miss Du Prel came across Lady
Engleton and her guests, in the Priory garden. From being accidental,
the meetings had become intentional.

"I like to fancy we are fugitives--like Boccaccio's merry company--from
the plague of our daily prose, to this garden of sweet poetry!" cried
Miss Du Prel.

They all kindled at the idea. Valeria made some fanciful laws that she
said were to govern the little realm. Everyone might express himself
freely, and all that he said would be held as sacred, as if it were in
confidence. To speak ill or slightingly of anyone, was forbidden. All
local and practical topics were to be dropped, as soon as the moss-grown
griffins who guarded the Garden of Forgetfulness were passed.

Had