The bird was on a plane-tree, and, with throat uplifted, was letting through his yellow beak that delicious piece of self-expression.

All things he seemed to praise--the sky, the sun, the trees, the dewy grass, himself: 'You darling!' thought Thyme.

With a shudder of delight she dropped her notebook back into the drawer, flung off her nightgown, and flew into her bath.
That same morning she slipped out quietly at ten o'clock.

Her Saturdays were free of classes, but she had to run the gauntlet of her mother's liking for her company and her father's wish for her to go with him to Richmond and play golf.
For on Saturdays Stephen almost always left the precincts of the Courts before three o'clock.

Then, if he could induce his wife or daughter to accompany him, he liked to get a round or two in preparation for Sunday, when he always started off at half-past ten and played all day.