The months drifted by.
"It is strange," said Brauws, "that we haven't heard from Addie lately."
"How long is it since we did?" asked Constance, vaguely.
"Nearly a week."
"Yes, it must be close upon a week."
"His last letters were brighter."
"Do you think the travelling is doing him good?"
"He doesn't travel as another man would. In the three months that he has been away . . ."
"Yes, he will have learnt a good deal that will be useful to him . . . in his profession."
"His letters were cheerful."
"I'm longing badly to see him again. . . . Listen to the wind!"
"That's the autumn coming."
"The summer is past. This is our typical weather. Look, here, out of my window, you can see the clouds coming up over the moor as you never do downstairs, because the trees in the garden hide all the view."
"Up here it reminds me sometimes of the Hague, in the Kerkhoflaan."
"But it's wider, wider . . ."
"And finer."
"There, they're coming up, the clouds. . . . That must be rain. . . . They're all grey and dark purple: I have never seen such purple as in our skies down here."
"You're able to live under them now."
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