It was Anne's birthday.

It shone in mid-May like the front of June.
Anne's bedroom was over Edith's and looked out on the garden.

A little rain had fallen over night.

Through the open window the day greeted her with a breath of flowers and earth; a day that came to her all golden, ripe and sweet from the south.
Her dressing-table was placed sideways from the window.

Anne, fresh from her cold bath, in a white muslin gown, with her thick sleek hair coiled and burnished, sat before the looking-glass.
There was a knock at the door, not Nanna's bold awakening summons, but a shy and gentle sound.