For that year Spring came with a burst.
Indeed there is seldom anything shy and tentative, anything obscure and gradual about the approaches of the London Spring.

Spring is always in a hurry there, for she knows that she has but a short time before her; she has to make an impression and make it at once; so she works careless of delicacies and shades, relying on broad telling strokes, on strong outlines and stinging contrasts.

She is like a clever artist handicapped with her materials.

Only a patch of grass, a few trees and the sky; but you wake one morning and the boughs are drawn black and bold against the blue; and leaves are sharp as emeralds against the black; and the grass in the squares and the shrubs in the gardens repeat the same brilliant extravaganza; and it is all very eccentric and beautiful and daring.

That is the way of a Cockney Spring, and when you are used to it the charm is undeniable.
One day Miss Quincey walked in Camden Town and noted the singular caprices of the Spring.