“Good day, Mr. Alder. Glad enough to see you. Come up and sit on the piazza.”
Mr. Brooks smiled, as he wiped his hands.
“And here is a lady, too,” he added. “I believe I have never met her.”
He held out his hand to Clematis with a kindly smile, and led them to the piazza.
Mr. Alder told him who she was, while Clematis was looking at the neat little cottage.
A vine was growing about the door, with little white flowers, peeping out from its green leaves.
Mr. Brooks saw her looking at it.
“Do you like the flowers?” he asked.
“Yes,—it is just the same.”
“What do you mean? What is just the same?”