ver, that is nothing to the
matter.'

There was a little vexed pause, and then Mrs. Dallas said:

'In the meanwhile, instead of busying yourself with far-away claims
which are no claims, what do you think of paying a little attention to
a guest in your own house?'

Pitt lifted his head and seemed to prick up his ears.

'Miss Frere? You wish me to take her to drive? I am willing, mamma.'

'Insensible boy! You ought to be very glad of the privilege.'

'I would rather take you, mother.'

The drive accordingly was proposed that very day; did not, however,
come off. It was too hot, Miss Frere said.

She was sitting in the broad verandah at the back of the house, which
looked out over the garden. It was an orderly wilderness of cherry
trees and apple trees and plum trees, raspberry vines and gooseberry
bushes; with marigolds and four o'clocks and love-in-a-puzzle and
hollyhocks and daisies and larkspur, and a great many more sweet and
homely growths that nobody makes any account of nowadays. Sunlight just
now lay glowing upon it, and made the shade of the verandah doubly
pleasant, the verandah being further shaded by honeysuckle and trumpet
creeper which wreathed round the pillars and stretched up to the eaves,
and the scent of the honeysuckle was mingled with the smell of roses
which came up from the garden. In this sweet and bowery place Miss
Frere was sitting when she declared it was too hot to drive. She was in
an India garden chair, and had her embroidery as usual in her hand. She
always had something in her hand. Pitt lingered, languidly
contemplating the picture she made.

'It _is_ hot,' he assented.

'When it is hot I keep myself quiet,' she went on. 'You seem to be of
another mind.'

'I make no difference for the weather.'

'Don't you? What energy! Then you are always at work?'

'Who said so?'

'I said so, as an inference. When the weather has been cool enough to
allow me to take notice, I have noticed that you were busy about
something. You tell me now that weather makes no difference.'

'Life is too short to allow weather to cut it shorter,' said Pitt,
throwing himself down on a mat. 'I think I have observed that you too
always have some work in hand whenever I have seen you.'

'My work amounts to nothing,' said the young lady. 'At least you would
say so, I presume.'

'What is it?'

Miss Betty displayed her roll of muslin, on the free portion of which
an elegant line of embroidery was slowly