“I never fall in love in August or September,” he proffered. “When the

“I never fall in love in August or September,” he proffered.

“When then?”

“Christmas or Easter. I’m a liturgist.”

“Easter!” She turned up her nose. “Huh! Spring in corsets!”

“Easter would bore spring, wouldn’t she? Easter has her hair braided, wears a tailored suit.”

“Bind on thy sandals, oh, thou most fleet. Over the splendor and speed of thy feet”

quoted Eleanor softly, and then added: “I suppose Hallowe'en is a better day for autumn than Thanksgiving.”

“Much better and Christmas eve does very well for winter, but summer…”

“Summer has no day,” she said. “We can’t possibly have a summer love. So many people have tried that the name’s become proverbial. Summer is only the unfulfilled promise of spring, a charlatan in place of the warm balmy nights I dream of in April. It’s a sad season of life without growth…. It has no day.”