[Bertie is waiting in the gardens for it, hat on his head and walking stick in his gloved hands. He was sniffing the flowers as she approaches but once he sees her, he stops and straightens and tips his hat to her.]

What ho, what ho, Linda! What a blustery winter's day, what? The sort of day that stirs the blood and makes one want to read gothic novels about fair fillies standing forlorn on dark and windswept moors.