"It was stupid of me," she said. "Won't you have a whisky-and-soda? You must be awfully thirsty."
"No, I should prefer tea, thanks," he said. "I hate drinks at odd times. How lovely your garden looks!"
"Yes; but it's still rather backward. The chestnut-flowers should be out by now, and they are still hardly budding."
"How can you remember that?"
"Oh, if one takes an interest in things, it is difficult to forget about them," said Maud.
"That is perfectly true," remarked Anthony.
Soon after tea he left again, and took the white riband of the Bath Road back into London. He could not help telling himself that he had prospered beyond all expectation; and if he had been, as he had told Maud, not hopeless before, he was, it may be supposed, on the sunny side of hope now. But he intended to stop, once and for all, the risk of mismanagement on the part of others, and having reached home he went straight to his mother's room.
"I've been down to Windsor," said he, "and I had tea with Maud Brereton—alone."
"You haven't got a spark of proper pride, Anthony," said his mother with some heat. "To go dangling and mooning after a girl who's refused you flat! I wonder what she sets up to be!"
"I think she sets up to be herself," said Anthony. "It is rather rare. I like it. But I want to manage my own affair in my own way. I particularly wish Lady Brereton not to say a word more of any kind to Maud. I should like you to tell her so if you have an opportunity."