The truth was that for years he had seen the plant-pots without noticing them. They were never moved, never touched. The unconquerable force of nature was illustrated in the simple fact that one or two of the plants still sturdily lived, displaying a grimy green.
"I love plants," said Mrs. Arb.
They passed up the steps, Mr. Earlforward a foot or so behind his heroine.
"Now what I don't understand," said she, turning upon him and stopping, "is why the Square should be so much higher than the road. It means that all the carts and things, even the milk-carts, have to go all the way round by Gilbert Street to get into the Square from the side. Why couldn't they have had it all on the same level?"
Exquisitely feminine, he thought! "Why couldn't they have had it all on the same level?" Absurd! Delicious! He adored the delicious, girlish absurdity.
"Well," he said. "It's like this. You see, in the old days they used to make tiles in Clerkenwell, and they scooped out the clay for the tiles in large quantities—and this is the result."
With a certain eagerness he amplified the explanation.
"I should never have thought of that," said Mrs. Arb ingenuously but archly. "What sort of church is St. Andrew's?"
"Oh! It was built in the 'thirties and cost £4,541. Cheap! I doubt if you'd build it to-day for twenty thousand. Supposed to hold eleven hundred people."
"Really! But I mean, is it High or Low, or Broad?"