noon
The flowering maple was still aflame , the sweet centre of attraction to innumerable bees , the hum of whose industry rose and fell on the languid breeze . The grass had the delicate green and exquisite odor belonging to its first growth , and was rapidly turning the brown , withered sward of winter into emerald . The sun shone through a slight haze , but shone warmly . The birds had opened the day with full orchestra , but at noon there was little more than chirp and twitter , they seeming to feel something of Edith 's languor , as she leaned on the railing of the porch , and watched for the coming of Malcom . She sighed as she looked at the bare brown earth of the large space that she purposed for strawberries , and work there and everywhere seemed repulsive . The sudden heat was enervating and gave her the feeling of luxurious languor that she longed to enjoy with a sense of security and freedom from care . But even as her eyelids drooped with momentary drowsiness , there was a consciousness , like a dull , half-recognized pain , of insecurity , of impending trouble and danger , and of a need for exertion that would lead to something more certain than anything her mother 's policy promised .