There were such pretty lanes in those days.

That was how your uncle met your Aunt Emily, you know," she addressed Katharine.
"They walked home through the lanes." "A sprig of May in her bonnet," Mrs.Cosham ejaculated, reminiscently.
"And next Sunday he had violets in his buttonhole.

And that was how we guessed." Katharine laughed.

She looked at Ralph.

His eyes were meditative, and she wondered what he found in this old gossip to make him ponder so contentedly.