"He's O'Neill and Craven's agent for Grand Canary. I thought you'd heard."
"No, it's news to me. It's news, moreover, that they had any business here that required an agent."
"They haven't."
"Hum," said Carter. "Miss O'Neill doesn't pay a salary without getting value for it. Now this is one of her deep-laid schemes."
Laura looked at him queerly. "Yes," she said, "this is one of Kate's deep-laid schemes, George. I wonder if you can see through it."
The sun above them scorched high, and the cool white buildings of the banana farmer threw the shortest of purple shadows. The fresh breath of the trade rustled the ferns and the palm leaves of the garden, and stirred the great masses of the bougainvillea into rhythmical movement. "It's grand to be in a place like this after a spell on the Coast," said Carter.
"Do you prefer it to England?" Laura asked pointedly.
Carter held down a sigh. "I believe I do," he said steadily. "Come, now, old lady, what do you say? Shall we buy a property here in Grand Canary, and settle down, and grow the finest flower garden in the island?"
"But roses are your favorite flower and they don't do well here in the South."
"Oh, it's roses that my father cares for, at least he and the mater together run the roses at home. But I think my taste runs more to bougainvillea, say—and great trees of scarlet geranium with stalks as thick as one's leg, and palms, and tree ferns. Besides, a garden means irrigation here, and I've never had a real water-works scheme of my own to play with since I was a kid and worked out a most wonderful system by the old smelt mill at home. Yes, we should have great times gardening out here."