"There'll be a fine one in the back bed soon," said James proudly.
"In the back—my dear James! In the spare bed on the north-east terrace, I suppose you mean. And what have we in the Dutch Ornamental Garden?"
"If I has to look after ornamental gardens and south aspics and all, I ought to have my salary raised," said James, still harping on his one grievance.
"By all means raise some celery," I said coldly.
"Take a spade and raise some for lunch. I shall be only too delighted."
"This here isn't the season for celery, as you know well. This here's the season for crocuses, as anyone can see if they use their eyes."
"James, you're right. Forgive me. It is no day for quarrelling."
It was no day for working either. The sun shone upon the close-cropped green of the deer park, the sky was blue above the rose garden, in the tapioca grove a thrush was singing. I walked up and down my estate and drank in the good fresh air.
"James!" I called to my head gardener.
"What is it now?" he grumbled.