change in the weather.
“It’ll be spring for you soon, Miss Cassandra,” said Stephen. We stood sniffing the air.
“There’s quite a bit of softness in it, isn’t there?” I said.
“I shall think of this as spring rain -or am I cheating his You know I always try to begin the spring too soon.”
He leaned out and took a deep sniff.
“It’s beginning all right, Miss Cassandra,” he said.
“Maybe we’ll get some setbacks but it’s beginning.” He suddenly smiled, not at me but looking straight in front of him, and added:
“Well, beginnings are good times.” Then he closed the window and we put the saucepans back under the drips, which played a little ringing tune now that the saucepans were empty. The candle-ends on the floor cast the strangest shadows and made him seem enormously tall. I remembered what Father had said about his being a godlike youth; and then I remembered that I had not remembered to be brisk.
We went back to the kitchen and I got Thomas some food.
Topaz was ironing her silk tea-gown, which looked wonderful-it had been a faded blue, but had dyed a queer sea-green color.
I think the sight of it made Rose extra gloomy. She was starting to iron a cotton frock that hadn’t dyed any too well.
“Oh, what’s the use of messing about with summer clothes, anyway,” she said.
“I can’t imagine it ever being warm again.”
“There’s quite a bit of spring in the air tonight,” I told her.
“You go out and smell it.”
Rose never gets emotional about the seasons so she took no notice, but Topaz went to the door at once and flung it open. Then she threw her head back, opened her arms wide and took a giant breath.
“It’s only a whiff of spring, not whole lungs full,” I said, but she was too rapt to listen. I quite expected her to plunge into the night, but after some more deep breathing she went upstairs to try on her tea-gown.
“It beats me,” said Rose.
“After all this time, I still don’t know if she goes on that way because she really feels like it, if she’s acting to impress us, or just acting to impress herself.”
“All three,” I said.
“And as it helps her to enjoy life, I don’t blame her.”
Rose went to close the door and stood there a minute, but the night air didn’t cheer her up at all. She slammed the door and said: “If I knew anything desperate to do, I’d do it.”
“What’s specially the matter with you, Rose?”
asked Thomas.
“You’ve been beating your breast for days and it’s very boring. We can at least get a laugh out of Topaz, but you’re just monotonously grim.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” said Rose.
“I feel grim. I haven’t any clothes, I haven’t any prospects. I live in a moldering ruin and I’ve nothing to look forward to but old age.”
“Well, that’s been the outlook for years,” said Thomas.
“Why has it suddenly got you down?”
“It’s the long, cold winter,” I suggested.
“It’s the long, cold winter of my life,” said Rose, at which Thomas laughed so much that he choked.
Rose had the sense to laugh a little herself. She came and sat on the table, looking a bit less glowering.
“Stephen,” she said, “you go to church. Do they still believe in the Devil there?”
“Some do,” said Stephen, “though I wouldn’t say the Vicar did.”
“The Devil’s out of fashion,” I said.
“Then he might be flattered if I believed in him, and work extra hard for me. I’ll sell him my soul like Faust did.”
“Faust sold his soul to get his youth back,” said Thomas.
“Then I’ll sell mine to live my youth while I’ve still got it,” said Rose. “Will he hear me if I shout, or do I have to find a Devil’s Dyke or Devil’s Well or something?”
“You could try wishing on our gargoyle,” I suggested. Although she was so desperate, she was—well, more playful than I had seen her for a long time and I wanted to encourage her.
“Get me the ladder, Stephen,” she
“It’ll be spring for you soon, Miss Cassandra,” said Stephen. We stood sniffing the air.
“There’s quite a bit of softness in it, isn’t there?” I said.
“I shall think of this as spring rain -or am I cheating his You know I always try to begin the spring too soon.”
He leaned out and took a deep sniff.
“It’s beginning all right, Miss Cassandra,” he said.
“Maybe we’ll get some setbacks but it’s beginning.” He suddenly smiled, not at me but looking straight in front of him, and added:
“Well, beginnings are good times.” Then he closed the window and we put the saucepans back under the drips, which played a little ringing tune now that the saucepans were empty. The candle-ends on the floor cast the strangest shadows and made him seem enormously tall. I remembered what Father had said about his being a godlike youth; and then I remembered that I had not remembered to be brisk.
We went back to the kitchen and I got Thomas some food.
Topaz was ironing her silk tea-gown, which looked wonderful-it had been a faded blue, but had dyed a queer sea-green color.
I think the sight of it made Rose extra gloomy. She was starting to iron a cotton frock that hadn’t dyed any too well.
“Oh, what’s the use of messing about with summer clothes, anyway,” she said.
“I can’t imagine it ever being warm again.”
“There’s quite a bit of spring in the air tonight,” I told her.
“You go out and smell it.”
Rose never gets emotional about the seasons so she took no notice, but Topaz went to the door at once and flung it open. Then she threw her head back, opened her arms wide and took a giant breath.
“It’s only a whiff of spring, not whole lungs full,” I said, but she was too rapt to listen. I quite expected her to plunge into the night, but after some more deep breathing she went upstairs to try on her tea-gown.
“It beats me,” said Rose.
“After all this time, I still don’t know if she goes on that way because she really feels like it, if she’s acting to impress us, or just acting to impress herself.”
“All three,” I said.
“And as it helps her to enjoy life, I don’t blame her.”
Rose went to close the door and stood there a minute, but the night air didn’t cheer her up at all. She slammed the door and said: “If I knew anything desperate to do, I’d do it.”
“What’s specially the matter with you, Rose?”
asked Thomas.
“You’ve been beating your breast for days and it’s very boring. We can at least get a laugh out of Topaz, but you’re just monotonously grim.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” said Rose.
“I feel grim. I haven’t any clothes, I haven’t any prospects. I live in a moldering ruin and I’ve nothing to look forward to but old age.”
“Well, that’s been the outlook for years,” said Thomas.
“Why has it suddenly got you down?”
“It’s the long, cold winter,” I suggested.
“It’s the long, cold winter of my life,” said Rose, at which Thomas laughed so much that he choked.
Rose had the sense to laugh a little herself. She came and sat on the table, looking a bit less glowering.
“Stephen,” she said, “you go to church. Do they still believe in the Devil there?”
“Some do,” said Stephen, “though I wouldn’t say the Vicar did.”
“The Devil’s out of fashion,” I said.
“Then he might be flattered if I believed in him, and work extra hard for me. I’ll sell him my soul like Faust did.”
“Faust sold his soul to get his youth back,” said Thomas.
“Then I’ll sell mine to live my youth while I’ve still got it,” said Rose. “Will he hear me if I shout, or do I have to find a Devil’s Dyke or Devil’s Well or something?”
“You could try wishing on our gargoyle,” I suggested. Although she was so desperate, she was—well, more playful than I had seen her for a long time and I wanted to encourage her.
“Get me the ladder, Stephen,” she
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