trees, bare and leafless, and a big bed of shrubs in the centre of
the little lawn, just faintly pricked with points of green. A few
aconites showed their yellow heads above the soil.

"What are those wretched little flowers?" said Mr. Redmayne,
pointing at them contemptuously.

"Oh, don't say that," said Howard; "they are always the first to
struggle up, and they are the earliest signs of spring. Those are
aconites."

"Aconites? Deadly poison!" said Mr. Redmayne, in a tone of horror.
"Well, I don't object to them,--though I must say that I prefer the
works of man to the works of God at all times and in all places. I
don't like the spring--it's a languid and treacherous time; it
always makes me feel that I wish I were doing something else."

They paced for some minutes round the garden gossiping, Redmayne
making very trenchant criticisms, but evidently enjoying the
younger man's company. At something which he said, Howard uttered a
low laugh, which was pleasant to hear from the sense of contented
familiarity which it gave.

"Ah, you may laugh, my young friend," said Redmayne, "but when you
have reached my time of life and see everything going to pieces
round you, you have occasionally to protest against the general
want of backbone, and the sentimentality of the age."

"Yes, but you don't REALLY object," said Howard; "you know you
enjoy your grievances!"