One morning Estelle had errands in town and invited Roger to go with her. Hearing his joyful acceptance, Win as gladly betook himself to the Manor.
Spring was far advanced now, potatoes were being planted and other early vegetables already showing in green rows. Under the trees on the Manor grounds wild snow-drops starred the grass. Win wandered into the formal garden enclosed by a hedge of box so clipped as to form a solid wall with square pillars topped by round balls of living green. In the background posed two peacocks, also clipped from box. What patience, time and care had been required to bring that hedge to such perfection! Early roses were now plentiful and as Win sauntered through their fragrant mazes, he realized how much loving thought had been expended through the centuries on this old garden. Sad indeed that the present owner of Laurel Manor was the last Richard Lisle.
Win's reverie was broken by the passing of Pierre, with a pleasant "Bon jour, M'sieur," and a touch of his cap. Pierre carried a rope and crowbar, unusual implements for a gardener's assistant.
Win watched him idly down the laurel-bordered drive and then went into the library, followed by Tylo, who seemed depressed in the absence of his mistress.
About eleven, Win was visited by Yvonne, bringing a glass of milk and a plate of biscuit, which she placed beside him with a politely murmured "M'sieur labors so diligently!"
"Thank you, Yvonne," said Win. "It's good of you to bring that. Do you know when the Colonel and Miss Connie are expected?"
"No word since they arrived at Paris," replied Yvonne in her daintily accented English.
"It is Pierre who hears from M'sieur Max, a letter, brief indeed, but explicit, that certain matters may arrange themselves in readiness for the coming of M'sieur Max."
Win looked puzzled. For a second Yvonne stood regarding him, her head slightly on one side.
"Word will perhaps arrive on the morrow," she volunteered. "Is the milk to M'sieur's liking?"