"Exactly, and as I don't want to be reminded of anything so deuced unpleasant: down they shall come! And, now, what's your opinion of these new flower-beds they have just cut out in this ribbon garden?"
"I think they are not sharp enough at the corners; they are too much the shape of biscuits,—the 'People's mixed.'"
"So they are! and shall we have them filled with pink verbenas, or crimson geraniums?"
"Crimson—that lovely new, deep shade."
"And crimson it shall be! Allow me to give you this rose!" suddenly plucking one as he spoke. "My dear Miss Denis, I see that our tastes are identical.—I only wish I was a young man for your sake."
His companion made no response, but on the whole she thought she preferred him as he was.
By this time they had encountered various other promenading couples, and in a shady walk they came face to face with Barry and Miss Calderwood, and the latter, instead of passing by on the other side, with her nose in the air, halted directly in front of Helen, and said most abruptly,—
"Miss Denis, Mr. Sheridan tells me that you were in the Andamans with Gilbert Lisle,—and knew him intimately!"
Helen coloured vividly, partly at this sudden accost and partly because of that sting in the tail of the sentence, that thrice underlined word "intimately;" and Mr. Redmond, wheeling swiftly round so as to face her, ejaculated, "God bless my soul! you don't tell me so."
"Yes, I knew a Mr. Lisle in the Andamans," admitted Helen reluctantly.