"June, when spring finally begins to gleam into summer. This year it was slow in coming, as winter decided to remind us that it was always here, lurking in the bakgrond. Now, as I write, the sun is shining happily again, the insects and birds are busy and so, unfortunately, are the cats. However, out aristocratic forebears would be leaving London for the country at this time, the season fading to its close. Most years there was no definite end to the season, just a fading away. Sometimes a great ball would be designated the last of the season, and afterwards, the ton felt free to return to the place where most of them felt more comfortable - the great country estates they and their forebears had carved out of the english countryside. Houseparties, necessary estate business, maybe some scheming would take place, and the huntsmen would wait impatiently fo August 12th and the shooting season."
I collected the snippets I'm posting regularly for my own reference, and, sometimes, did not note the source. I cannot remember where the above quote came from.