Denham Court was a pretty place built on the side of a slight hill, with the river Doveney running not far from the foot of it. I was shown up into a room that looked out upon greenhouses and cucumber-frames, and from which I had a view of the river, just at a point where it widened out into a broad expanse like a lake. Just then I had not much time to grieve about my quarrel with Laurence and his cruel conduct about the rose; but I did shed a few tears, and wondered whether he would write and ask me to make it up, and thought that I should not be able to enjoy myself at all in this pretty place without him. Then I shook out my muslin frock and put it on, and, when I fastened the black velvet round my throat, with the beautiful flashing pendant on it, and pinned on one side of the lace edging, a little lower down, the red rose Laurence had flung away and I had meekly picked up again, I looked so much nicer than I had thought it possible for me to look that I could not help feeling that life was not quite a blank, and wishing that Laurence could see me.
I had left my room, and was going along the corridor, when I met a man the sight of whom made me start and turn quite cold. For he looked so much like the mysterious visitor at the Alders whom Mr. Rayner had described as “a gentleman,” and whom I had seen two nights before going into the stable with Tom Parkes and Sarah, that I thought it must be he. But this man stood aside for me with the stolidly respectful manner, not of a gentleman, but of a servant; and I hurried past him, feeling quite shocked by the strength of the resemblance; for of course a friend of Mr. Rayner’s, however familiarly he might choose to speak to Tom Parkes and Sarah, would not be a man-servant at Denham Court.
In the hall I met a maid who showed me into the drawing-room, which was empty; so I walked to one of the windows which led into a conservatory, and peeped in. The flowers were so beautiful, the scents so intoxicating, that I crept in step by step with my hands clasped, as if drawn by enchantment; and I had my face close to a large plant covered with white blossoms like lilies, when I saw peeping through the big fan-shaped leaves of a plant behind it the fair mustache and eye-glass of the gentleman they called “Tom.” He was looking intently, not at me, but at the ornament sparkling at my throat. He looked up when I did, and came round to me.
“Nicely-kept place, isn’t it? Sir Jonas is proud of his flowers.”
“I never saw any like them. Look at these. Are they lilies?”
“I believe this is called ‘Eucharistis Amazonia;’ if not, it is something like that. Shall I cut you some?”
“Oh, don’t, don’t! It would be such a pity!”
“I suppose you wouldn’t condescend to wear them?”
“I shouldn’t dare to do so. What would Sir Jonas say if you spoilt his beautiful plants?”
“Sir Jonas wouldn’t say anything; he never does. Even the gardener, a much more important person, wouldn’t say anything to me. I’m a spoilt child here, Miss Christie; so you had better make friends with me, and I’ll get you everything you want.”