"Then bring the watering-can. We're going to water the flowers."
Henry, who seemed of a morose nature, went to obey.
"I'm obliged to have a boy for the knives, and he acts as a gardener when I'm busy," explained Mrs. Foster. "There isn't much of a kitchen garden, only a few gooseberries and apples, as you know, dear, but it's nice to think they grow there, isn't it?"
"Very."
"Of course, I can't make much show with them. Henry always eats them before they're ripe, which is rather hard. But he's a good, honest boy. One of his sisters has gone in for making blouses—in the village, you know. She's a brave girl, and I feel sure will get on."
"She must be! Have you ever ...?"
"Oh no. Of course not. I couldn't. When a woman reaches a certain age, my dear, a certain style is necessary. I don't mean great expense, but simple little things that would suit you, darling, wouldn't do for me. Now that little pink thing that you're wearing—I should look nothing in it, and yet I dare say Henry's sister.... Where did you get it, dear?"
"Well, it came from Paquin's," said Daphne. "It's not new."
"Oh! Well, we mustn't be always talking of chiffons together, that's very frivolous. You're fond of poetry, aren't you?"
"Not so very," said Daphne truthfully.