As she gazed through the small panes of her large windows, she found herself overlooking part of a wilderness of garden, which revealed itself through an arch in an overgrown laurel hedge.

She had glimpses of unkempt grass paths and unclipped topiary work which had lost its original form.

Among a tangle of weeds rose the heads of clumps of daffodils, stirred by a passing wind of spring.

In the park beyond a cuckoo was calling.
She was conscious both of the forlorn beauty and significance of the neglected garden, and of the clear quaintness of the cuckoo call, as she thought of other things.
"Her spirit and her health are broken," was her summing up.

"Her prettiness has faded to a rag.