CHAPTER XII
HUGH’S hustle of indignation against his brother-in-law carried him in one burst (like a motor-car on its top-speed) to the level of the hill where Chalkpits stood, and he rattled and hooted his way into the garden. There he found Mrs. Owen still talking to his wife, and he noticed that the subject, whatever it was, was broken off very short when he appeared on the lawn, and Mrs. Owen began with an eager finger to appreciate the beauties of the herbaceous border.
“And those beautiful pink roses over there,” she said—“what are they? I am so short-sighted.”
“They are mallows,” said Hugh.
“Yes, so they are. Don’t you adore mallows, Mr. Grainger? And did the dear Canon say anything which showed that he thought I ought to have gone to evening-service? I am afraid I am very naughty about evening-service. If he preaches, I go; if he doesn’t, I exercise free-will, or free-won’t, as he said.”
“I thought he always preached,” said Hugh, with an internal cackle of malicious delight at what he implied.
“Ah, no! I wish he did. Such wonderful eloquence!”
“He was very eloquent on the way down,” said Hugh.
Edith was watching Hugh’s movements with some anxiety, seeing, as was perfectly clear, that he was what Mrs. Owen would call “rather upset,” and easily conjecturing the cause.
“And those brilliant yellow flowers,” continued Mrs. Owen—“what are they? Like sunlight on the bed, are they not? Surely they are little sunflowers!”