夜雨聆风Miss Cole said, looking round: ‘What a beautiful evening it is.’
She was quite right. The sun was drawing to the west and the light was arich golden, bringing out the deeper shades of green in the trees in a deepglowing effect. It was an evening, still and calm, and very English, such asone remembers when in far-off tropical countries. I said as much.
Colonel Luttrell agreed eagerly. ‘Yes, yes, often used to think of eveningslike this – out in India, you know. Makes you look forward to retiring andsettling down, what?’
I nodded. He went on, his voice changing: ‘Yes, settling down, cominghome – nothing’s ever quite what you picture it – no – no.’
I thought that that was probably particularly true in his case. He had notpictured himself running a guest house, trying to make it pay, with a nag-ging wife forever snapping at him and complaining.
We walked slowly towards the house. Norton and Boyd Carrington weresitting on the veranda and the Colonel and I joined them whilst Miss Colewent on into the house.
We chatted for a few minutes. Colonel Luttrell seemed to havebrightened up. He made a joke or two and seemed far more cheerful andwide awake than usual.
