There were four purple crocuses and two yellow ones in the flowerbed on his left; and on his right, three impoverished hyacinth-buds, of a pinkish colour; and they all seemed to be doing their best to sink back into the earth out of a world that contained, among its possibilities, such a thing as this wind!

“Is Bob Weevil in there with her?” he thought, staring at the crocuses till they ceased to be crocuses. “He may not be⁠ ⁠… but one thing is absolutely certain, and that is that Christie and the old man are having tea together! If not now, they will be, soon. What more natural? ‘The dear father would with his daughter speak.’ ”

He did his best to peer into the parlour-window, but the afternoon was so dark that all he could make out was a faint glow from the firelight.