"Everything is awfully grim and cheerless, our weather and our houses and our ways of amusing ourselves.

But we can be happier than anybody.

We can go mad with joy, as the people do out in the fields on a fine Whitsunday.

We make the most of our moment." She thrust her little chin out defiantly over her gray fur collar, and Bartley looked down at her and laughed.
"You are a plucky one, you." He patted her glove with his hand.

"Yes, you are a plucky one." Hilda sighed.