Kate turned her head away quickly.
"Did you see that swan?" she cried. "He turned a perfect somersault in the water."
Lionel adjusted his monocle and stared at the unruffled surface of the lake. "He must have dived and come up on the other side of the island," he suggested.
"Please go on," she said. "What will be your attitude toward a—toward a—po—po——" She was afraid to trust her voice.
"A potato? My dear girl, it's the simplest thing in the world. Once plant the seeds and put the sticks in——"
"The sticks?" interrupted Kate.
Lionel permitted himself the smile of superior knowledge. "Of course, for the little beggars to climb up. I say, Kate, didn't you know that the potato is a creeper? Some of the catalogues call it a vine, but that's confusing, because a vine, don't you know, bears grapes, and a potato only bears potatoes. A chap might easily go wrong on that, mightn't he? Gardening is full of pitfalls, but so is every other profession when it comes to that, and I fancy I'll muddle through somehow, and if I don't, well, there you are!"
Lionel leaned back in the rustic seat and blew out a triumphant cloud of smoke. Kate watched him in silence.
Presently, in response to a pair of lifted eyebrows and an outstretched palm, Lionel fumbled for his cigarette case. Kate selected one, and, poising it delicately between her lips, tipped her face toward his for a light. Lionel hastily removed his cigarette and handed it to her. She took it silently, with a look that missed its mark.
After lighting her cigarette the countess tossed Lionel's into the lake with an exclamation that caused him to look round.