"If ever I write poetry, Tuppy," said the Duke solemnly, "I should be very grateful if you would refrain from quoting it."
The Emerson opening was allowed to stand. Tuppy made another determined effort to introduce a flower of poetry into the letter when it was nearing completion.
"Look here, Monty. Why not work in that bit about
Love to a girl is a thing apart,
'Tis a feller's whole existence?"
"Partly," said the Duke, "out of respect for the dead, whom you are misquoting. It runs 'Love to a man is a thing impart!'"
"She wouldn't know the difference," said the sanguine lord.
"That's beside the question: this is supposed to be an open letter addressed to Sir Harry; I can't chuck words of poetry at his unfortunate head—after all he's been punished enough."
They broke off their composition to join Hank in the garden whilst the sedate servant laid the table for lunch.
So far from planting snowdrops Hank had established himself in the little green-house at the end of the garden—a warm cosy little greenhouse on a wintry day—and ensconced in a deck chair had fallen asleep. They woke him by the simple expedient of opening the door wide and letting in a rush of icy cold air.
"Notice anything strange about next door?" yawned Hank, and the Duke started.