II
T
wo
years of happiness and then great sorrow and the destruction of a pattern of life; that is what happened, and I shrink from bringing my mind to dwell on it now, yet I must, for the story cannot be complete without it. I must be as callous with myself as I fear I have been with others, with too many others.
The late summer of that year was splendid with warmth and fruit. It was as though God had intended Summer to last for ever and happiness to be carelessly eternal. It seemed that none of us desired any more from life than what it was now giving us. It seemed that this phase of our life would never pass. Yet it did, and so suddenly.
September 15th was as fine a day as any we had had that summer; the garden hummed with life and even the plants in the conservatory seemed to sigh
