"We are two lonely women," with her radiant compelling smile, "and need your kindly countenancing." His eyes dwelt deep in hers as he answered, and there was a flush upon his own cheek, man and warrior though he was.
"If I might come as often as I would," he said, "I should be at your door, perhaps, with too great frequency." "Nay, your Grace," she answered.

"Come as often as _we_ would--and see who wearies first.

'Twill not be ourselves." He kissed her hand again, and this time 'twas passionately, and when he left her presence it was with a look of radiance on his noble face, and with the bearing of a king new crowned.
For a few moments' space she stood where he had parted from her, looking as though listening to the sound of his step, as if she would not lose a footfall; then she went to the window, and stood among the flowers there, looking down into the street, and Anne saw that she watched his equipage.
'Twas early summer, and the sunshine flooded her from head to foot; the window and balcony were full of flowers--yellow jonquils and daffodils, white narcissus, and all things fragrant of the spring.

The scent of them floated about her like an incense, and a straying zephyr blew great puffs of their sweetness back into the room.

Anne felt it all about her, and remembered it until she was an aged woman.
Clorinda's bosom rose high in an exultant, rapturous sigh.
"'Tis the Spring that comes," she murmured breathlessly.