pse of
her during her fledgling period, and had gone back with distinct
vividness to the summer morning in the tree, almost seven years ago.

He answered with a carelessness which was not altogether pleasing to
Cecilia Cricklander. She saw instantly that her favorite guest was
ruffled by something. Although never fine, she was quick at observing
all the moods of her pawns, and had brought the faculty of watching for
signs from castles, knights and kings to a science. John Derringham must
be humored and cajoled by a proof of her great understanding of him--he
must be left in silence for a minute, and then she would pause and look
over the balustrade, so that he might see her handsome profile and take
in the exquisite simplicity of her perfect dress. She knew these things
pleased him. She would look a little sad, too, and far away.

It had its effect.

"What are you dreaming about, fair chatelaine?" he asked after a while.
"Your charming mouth has its corners drooped."

"I was wondering--" and then she stopped.

"Yes?" asked John Derringham. "You were wondering what?"

"I was wondering if one could ever get you to really take an interest in
anything but your politics, and your England's advancement? How good it
would be if one could interest you for a moment in anything else."

He leaned upon the balustrade beside her.

"You are talking nonsense," he said. "You know very well that you
interest me every time I see you--and it is growing upon me. That was
not the only thing revolving in your clever mind."

"Yes, indeed," and she looked down.

"Well, then, I am interested in your garden. What do you think of doing?
Tell me."

She explained an elaborate plan, and quoted the names of famous
gardeners and their styles, with her accustomed erudition. For had not
Arabella got them up for her only that morning, as she smoked her
seventh cigarette in bed? She inclined to French things, and she thought
that this particular part--a mere rough bit of the park--could very well
be laid out as a _Petit Trianon_. She could procure copies of the plans
of Mique, and even have a _Temple d'Amour_.

"I love to create," she said. "The place would not have amused me if
everything had been complete, and if you will help me I shall be so
grateful."

"Of course I will," he said. "The _Temple d'Amour_ would look quite well
up upon that rising ground, and you could have a small winding lake dug
to complete the illusion. Nothing is imp