A day of blazing heat changed the season suddenly. Flat threatening sunlight travelled round the house. The shadowy sun-blinded flower-scented waiting-room held street-baked patients in its deep armchairs. Some of them were languid. But none of them suffered. They kept their freshness and freedom from exhaustion by living away from toil and grimy heat; in cool clothes, moving swiftly through moving air in carriages and holland-blinded hansoms; having ices in expensive shade; being waited on in the cool depths of west-end houses; their lives disturbed only by occasional dentistry. The lean dark patients were like lizards, lively and darting and active even in the sweltering heat.

Miriam’s sunless room was cool all day. Through her grey window she could see the sunlight pouring over the jutting windows of Mr. Leyton’s small room and reflected in the grimy sheen of the frosted windows of the den. Her day’s work was unreal, as easy as a dream. All about her were open sunlit days that her summer could not bring, and that yet were hers as she moved amongst them; a leaf dropped in the hall, the sight of a summer dress, summer light coming through wide-open windows took her out into them. Summer would never come again in the old way, but it set her free from cold, and let her move about unhampered in the summers of the past. Summer was happiness.⁠ ⁠… Individual things were straws on the stream of summer happiness.

At tea time in the den there was a darkening hush. It was like a guest, turning everyone’s attention to itself, abolishing differences, setting free unexpected sympathies. Everyone spoke of the coming storm and looked beautiful in speaking. The day’s work was discussed as if in the presence of an unseen guest.