It was full late for the river, but the weather was lovely, and summer lingered below the yellowing leaves.

Soames took many looks at the day from his riverside garden near Mapledurham that Sunday morning.
With his own hands he put flowers about his little house-boat, and equipped the punt, in which, after lunch, he proposed to take them on the river.

Placing those Chinese-looking cushions, he could not tell whether or no he wished to take Annette alone.

She was so very pretty--could he trust himself not to say irrevocable words, passing beyond the limits of discretion?
Roses on the veranda were still in bloom, and the hedges ever-green, so that there was almost nothing of middle-aged autumn to chill the mood; yet was he nervous, fidgety, strangely distrustful of his powers to steer just the right course.

This visit had been planned to produce in Annette and her mother a due sense of his possessions, so that they should be ready to receive with respect any overture he might later be disposed to make.