And it was a fine day; a delicious day, with the horror of the Infinite
veiled by the splendid tent of blue; a day innocently bright like a child
with a washed face, fresh like an innocent young girl, suave in welcoming
one's respects like--like a Roman prelate. I love such days. They are
perfection for remaining indoors. And I enjoyed it temperamentally in a
chair, my feet up on the sill of the open window, a book in my hands and
the murmured harmonies of wind and sun in my heart making an
accompaniment to the rhythms of my author. Then looking up from the page
I saw outside a pair of grey eyes thatched by ragged yellowy-white
eyebrows gazing at me solemnly over the toes of my slippers. There was a
grave, furrowed brow surmounting that portentous gaze, a brown tweed cap
set far back on the perspiring head.
"Come inside," I cried as heartily as my sinking heart would permit.
After a short but severe scuffle with his dog at the outer door, Fyne
entered. I treated him without ceremony and only waved my hand towards a
chair. Even before he sat down he gasped out:
"We've heard--midday post.
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