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"Oh, and there's old Fenn,--my head gardener. He's been here forty
years, and he sits on me like an old man of the sea. I know what he
wants. He's coming up to ask me about something he calls a herbaceous
border. You see that border there?"--he pointed--"Well, I barely know a
peony from a cabbage. Perhaps you do?" He turned towards her hopefully;
and Mrs. Friend felt the charm, as many other women had felt it before
her, of the meditative blue eyes, under the black and heavy brow. She
shook her head smiling.
He smiled in return.
"But, if you don't--would you mind--again--pretending? Would you see the
old fellow, some time this morning--and tell him to do exactly what he
damn pleases--I beg your pardon!--it slipped out. If not, he'll come into
my study, and talk a jargon of which I don't understand a word, for half
an hour. And as he's stone deaf, he doesn't understand a word I say.
Moreover when he's once there I can't get him out. And I've got a bit of
rather tough county business this morning. Would you mind? It's a great
deal to ask.


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