name?"

Reginald Hampton, in the privacy of his retreat, smiled beautifully to
himself. He had watched the old gentleman's progress through the garden,
and had guessed that he was tremendously proud of his flowers, his
trees, his lawn; and an inspiration had come to this light-hearted
trifler with another man's pear blossom.

"I guessed it, sir," he responded, very suavely. "I knew I had dropped
somewhere in Kent, and a glance at that well-kept grass of yours, at the
rare profusion of early flowers, at the extreme
fulness--er--profligacy--of your fruit-blossom, told me in a moment that
the garden could belong to only one man in the county. Do you suppose I
have been a horticultural enthusiast all these years without knowing
Colonel Currie by name? Why, the--the dahlias you exhibit are alone
sufficient to make your name cling to one's memory. Sir, I am deeply
sorry that I have injured your crop of jargonelles, but I cannot regret
that I have been privileged to meet you."

Reginald Hampton had a cheery way of emerging with safety from any
embarrassment in which he happened to find himself. His haphazard
assumption of enthusiasm for the one subject on earth of which he knew
least might so easily have led him astray; yet in the very nick of time
that word _dahlia_ crept into his consciousness and won the day. It
chanced that dahlia-cultivation was the Colonel's most absorbing hobby.
The old gentleman's anger had already begun to cool, under the influence
of his enemy's persistent politeness, and this liberal application of
the flattery-trowel at once set up a counter-current of positive
cordiality.

"I apologise, sir, I apologise for the--ah--breadth of my language.
These little accidents will happen, of course--do happen, doubtless,
every day--and I had no idea that you were a grower of dahlias. Now,
what soil do you consider the most suitable for the Cactus varieties?"
Thus the Colonel, in tones of peace.

[Illustration: "WHY, WHATEVER IS THE MATTER?' SHE CRIED."]

There was stillness in the flowery region just above the Colonel's head.
A perplexed balloonist was at one and the same time suppressing an
outburst of hysterical laughter, and encouraging coy soil-theories to
evolve themselves from the blank chambers of his brain.

"It is difficult to say off-hand," he began. "Every grower, you see, has
his own views."

"So he has, so he has--and he likes to hear other people's views, if
only for the sake of abusing