Edward thought it far more probable that it was the house that wouldn't know him by then, but, too taken aback to reply, he merely passed his handkerchief over his dry lips and waited for Jasper to continue.
The old man paused in his walk and ran his eye critically over some standard rose trees, that, each in its little island of mould, studded the lawn.
"Yes, my boy, you'll find we're not drones. We're busy bees, your aunt and me; what she does to the house I do to the garden. I'm never happy unless I'm pottering about with a trowel. I'll have this place," he waved his arm comprehensively, "shipshape in no time. I'll have those roses up and put 'em in a row under the window, they're wasted where they are, and we'll re-turf the lawn and make it big enough for croquet."
Jasper looked at Edward Povey for approbation. "Or even tennis," said the latter, who felt he must say something. Then he sat down on a rustic garden seat and nervously rolled himself a cigarette. Jasper, leaning a fat elbow upon the stone sundial, went on.
"A nice little place all the same, yes, a nice little place. Better than Clapham, eh, Edward?"
"Much better, uncle Jasper."
"The firm seems to have found out your worth at last. Well, I'm glad of it. Your aunt is always telling me that Charlotte married a fool—no, don't get angry, that's only her way of putting it. Been here long?"
"Not very long, uncle. You see, I've only got on lately. I discovered a scheme whereby my firm could save a small fortune in postage, and they rewarded me liberally. Then they found out I could correspond and speak in French and Spanish, so they rewarded me again. Oh! They've done me very well, I—— There's the gong for breakfast; we'll go in."
The meal was hardly a pleasant one. Aunt Eliza, whose temper the battle with the morning sun had not improved, munched her toast in silence. She was one of those individuals who appear to undergo a refrigerating process during the night hours and to awake frost-bitten. During the day she would gradually thaw. The process was sometimes rapid, but more often than not the midday dinner passed before Mrs. Jasper Jarman was even commonly polite. She had never been known to smile before eleven.
At eight-thirty Edward prepared to leave the house, presumably for the business offices of Messrs. Kyser, Schultz & Company, in Eastcheap. He was glad to escape from the charged atmosphere of the Adderbury Cottage dining-room, but he hated to leave Charlotte alone to play his game for him. To let Uncle Jasper suspect that he was not still in the service of the firm would of course be fatal. As he stood in the hall drawing on his gloves he noticed that the postman had left in the box a blue envelope. Making sure he was alone, he drew it out. It was, of course, addressed to Mr. Kyser, and Edward was about to place it unopened in his pocket, when his uncle's voice came from the stairs above—