The Zephyr

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

A DESCENDANT OF PLATO

I walked in the beautiful spring light through the dappled, dancing shadows of trees. The path was dry and well laid by some thoughtful soul of long ago, and though I missed my ponies and the speed of our escapes, I reflected how well I still loved a good long walk.

As I went, I reflected on the strange, the curious, the anxious, and the miraculous happenings that had led me to this finite point in my life. How long had I known Mr Darcy? A year and a half! In that time, he had shown to me his various qualities, and yes, his faults, with increasing confidence. He trusted me to know him through and through, and privately, he had even unbent sufficiently to be playful and sharp. Perhaps it was because, as he once suggested, he had learnt that I enjoy banter a great deal. This spoke to his power of perception, a discovery which pleased me greatly, for he had rightly concluded I was not nearly as moved by mawkish sentiment as I was his brutal set-downs.