"Do you dig up the roots, or cover them, or let them freeze?
You have no idea how many times these cold days the recollection of that hour with you last summer when we walked among them recurs to me.

It seems ages ago, however.

That was one of the happy days, Louise." A delicate tint of pink stole into her face.

For to her also the day had been one of happiness, as clear-cut in her memory as a cameo.

The thought that it and she had been dwelling in his mind produced in her breast an unaccountable agitation.