The yellow light poured through the trees and the leaves seemed to burn with soft fires.

There was a smell of acacias in the air everywhere, and the laburnums were dripping gold over the walls of the gardens.

It was a sweet, lonely kind of summer evening.

Remembering Hilda as she used to be, was doubtless more satisfactory than seeing her as she must be now--and, after all, Alexander asked himself, what was it but his own young years that he was remembering?
He crossed back to Westminster, went up to the Temple, and sat down to smoke in the Middle Temple gardens, listening to the thin voice of the fountain and smelling the spice of the sycamores that came out heavily in the damp evening air.

He thought, as he sat there, about a great many things: about his own youth and Hilda's; above all, he thought of how glorious it had been, and how quickly it had passed; and, when it had passed, how little worth while anything was.