They made the rounds of garden and greenhouse and then returned to the house to find Mrs. Manning and Mr. Kirkby chaffing, arguing, all but quarreling.
"I have always maintained I will have nothing Spanish in my house," Mrs. Manning was saying.
"Not even Spanish mackerel, I suppose," the rector suggested.
"I certainly don't order Spanish olives, nor Spanish oil; I am very particular about that. No, Ernest Kirkby, I maintain that I have made it a rule not to encourage Spanish products."
"I'll bet you tuppence that you eat something Spanish every day of your life," cried her antagonist.
"I beg you will mention it."
"Marmalade, orange marmalade. You can't deny that you eat it to your breakfast every morning."
"Nonsense. Why, man alive, it is Scotch, made in Dundee. You should know that."
"I do know that," the rector retorted triumphantly. "Of course it is Dundee marmalade, but where do the oranges come from? Seville! Seville! They have to use those bitter oranges, you know."
Mrs. Manning was nonplussed for the moment, then she broke out into a hearty laugh. "It's never too late to mend," she said. "Lillian, I want you to see to it that there is always strawberry jam on the table at breakfast after this."