And the name of this enormous man-contrived machine which took the place
of father and mother was the Half Moon Trust Company, acting as trustee,
guardian, and executor for two little children, who neither understood
why they were sometimes very unruly or that they would one day be very,
very rich.

As for their outbreaks, an intense sense of loneliness for which they
were unable to account was always followed by a period of restlessness
sure to culminate in violent misbehaviour.

Such an outbreak had been long impending. So when a telegram called away
their personal guardian, Kathleen Severn, the children broke loose with
the delicate fury of the April tempest outside, which all the morning
had been blotting the western windows with gusts of fragrant rain.

The storm was passing now; light volleys of rain still arrived at
intervals, slackening as the spring sun broke out, gilding naked
branches and bare brown earth, touching swelling buds and the frail
points of tulips which pricked the soaked loam in close-set thickets.

From the library bay windows where they stood, the children noticed
dandelions in the grass and snowdrops under the trees and recognised the
green signals of daffodil and narcissus.

Already crocuses, mauve, white, and yellow, glimmered along a dripping
privet hedge which crowned the brick and granite wall bounding the
domain of Seagrave. East, through the trees, they could see the roofs of
electric cars speeding up and down Madison Avenue, and the houses facing
that avenue. North and south were quiet streets; westward Fifth Avenue