“Then I suspect you made a great mistake; but really, I think we might talk of something else. What about those hyacinths; didn’t you tell me they ought to be moved?”
“Yes, Harry said they had too much sun there, and were losing colour in consequence.”
“I can’t imagine him a great authority in gardening.”
“Well, but he really knew a great deal about it, and had an exquisite taste in the landscape part of it; witness that little plat under your window.”
“The fuchsias are pretty,” said she, with a saucy air. “Isn’t the post late to-day?”
“It came two hours ago. Don’t you remember my saying there were no letters, except two for Harry?”
“And where are you to forward them to him? Has he been confidential enough to tell you?”
“No; he said, if anything comes for me, keep it till you hear of me.”
“He affected mystery. I think he imagined it gave something of romance to him, though a more prosaic, worldly character, never existed.”
“I don’t agree with you, Florry. I think it was the worldliness was the affectation.”