Standing with his hat in his hand at the threshold of the little chapel, Robin Drummond had a memory of the scent of wild thyme.
He was not one to hesitate when he had made up his mind.

His mother had told him that Nelly was waiting, ready for the word which might have been hers any time those two or three years back.

Her father thought the time had come to arrange a date for their marriage.

His mother, too, was anxious to see him settled.

Neither she nor the General was young any longer.