Then we were as gay as summer insects, playful as children; we ever met one another with smiles, and read content and joy in each other’s countenances. Our prime festivals were held in Perdita’s cottage; nor were we ever weary of talking of the past or dreaming of the future. Jealousy and disquiet were unknown among us; nor did a fear or hope of change ever disturb our tranquillity. Others said, “We might be happy”⁠—we said⁠—“We are.”