Mrs. Bolton also kept a cherishing eye on Connie, feeling she must extend to her her female and professional protection. She was always urging her ladyship to walk out, to drive to Uthwaite, to be in the air. For Connie had got into the habit of sitting still by the fire, pretending to read, or to sew feebly, and hardly going out at all.
It was a blowy day soon after Hilda had gone, that Mrs. Bolton said: “Now why don’t you go for a walk through the wood, and look at the daffs behind the keeper’s cottage? They’re the prettiest sight you’d see in a day’s march. And you could put some in your room, wild daffs are always so cheerful-looking, aren’t they?”
Connie took it in good part, even daffs for daffodils. Wild daffodils! After all, one should not stew in one’s own juice. The Spring came back. … “Seasons return, but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of Ev’n or Morn.”