Now came April. The elms before Court Leys were beginning to burst into leaf; the green buds covered the branches like a delicate rain, a verdant haze that was visible from a little distance and vanished when one came near. The brown fields also clothed themselves with a summer garment; the clover sprang up green and luxurious, and the crops showed good promise for the future. There were days when the air was almost balmy, when the sun was warm and the heart leapt, certain at last that the spring was at hand. The warm and comfortable rain soaked into the ground; and from the branches continually hung the countless drops, glistening in the succeeding sun. The self-conscious tulip unfolded her petals and carpeted the ground with gaudy colour. The clouds above Leanham were lifted up and the world was stretched out in a greater circle. The birds now sang with no uncertain notes as in March, but from a full throat, filling the air; and in the hawthorn behind Court Leys the first nightingale poured out his richness. And the full scents of the earth rose up, the fragrance of the mould and of the rain, the perfumes of the sun and of the soft breezes. But sometimes, without ceasing, it rained from morning till night, and then Edward rubbed his hands. “I wish this would keep on for a week; it’s just what the country wants.” One such day Bertha was lying on a sofa while Edward stood at the window, looking at the pattering rain. She thought of the November afternoon when she had stood at the same window considering the dreariness of the winter, but her heart full of hope and love. “Come and sit down beside me, Eddie dear,” she said. “I’ve hardly seen you all day.” “I’ve got to go out,” he said, without turning round. “Oh no, you haven’t. Come here and sit down.” “I’ll come for two minutes, while they’re putting the trap in.” “Kiss me.” He kissed her and she laughed. “You funny boy, I don’t believe you care about kissing me a bit.” He could not answer this, for at that moment the trap came to the door and he sprang up. “Where are you going?” “I’m driving over to see old Potts at Herne about some sheep.” “Is that all? Don’t you think you might stay in for an afternoon when I ask you?” “Why?” he replied. “There’s nothing to do in here. Nobody is coming, I suppose.” “I want to be with you, Eddie,” she said, plaintively. He laughed. “I’m afraid I can’t break an appointment just for that.” “Shall I come with you then?” “What on earth for?” he asked, with surprise. “I want to be with you; I hate being always separated from you.” “But we’re not always separated. Hang it all, it seems to me that we’re always together.” “You don’t notice my absence as I notice yours,” said Bertha in a low voice, looking down. “But it’s raining cats and dogs, and you’ll get wet through, if you come.” “What do I care about that if I’m with you!” “Then come by all means if you like.” “You don’t care if I come or not; it’s nothing to you.”