“Is it raining again?” said Clifford, seeing her shake her hat.

“Just drizzle.”

She poured tea in silence, absorbed in a sort of obstinacy. She did want to see the keeper today, to see if it were really real. If it were really real.

“Shall I read a little to you afterwards?” said Clifford.

She looked at him. Had he sensed something?

“The spring makes me feel queer⁠—I thought I might rest a little,” she said.

“Just as you like. Not feeling really unwell, are you?”

“No! Only rather tired⁠—with the spring. Will you have Mrs. Bolton to play something with you?”

“No! I think I’ll listen in.”