Idleness is the key of beggary, Jack. A chill rain thrummed against the sides of John’s car, having slowed from deluge to steady patter, the snow was 158 dissolved where it lay. Whatever may happen to-morrow I shall be none the better for anticipating its miseries to-day. We must never let your father know we went. The emerald wings, slashed with scarlet and yellow, wheeling and swooping about her head, there among the wild plantain. It is for that reason that this novel begins with her there, and neither earlier nor later, for it is the history of this crisis and its consequences that this novel has to tell. “She can’t go now.
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