“Of course—of course, Ellis. And you think Daniel Barnett is quite equal to the duties?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am. He is quite as good a gardener as John Grange, so I don’t think you could do better, ma’am. You see we know him, that he is trustworthy and clever.”
“Well, well, I’ll think about it. I will not decide this morning; but I suppose it will have to be so. I can’t go appointing another man directly the breath is out of poor old Dunton’s body, and with that poor fellow lying there in misery. Come to me this day week, James Ellis, and I will give my decision.”
The bailiff bowed and withdrew, to go straight to the gardens, where, quite by accident, of course, Daniel Barnett came along one of the paths, and met him, looking at him inquiringly; but Ellis did not say a word about the subject nearest then to the young man’s heart. He asked how the grapes were looking, and had a peep at them and the melons. Then went on through the orchid-houses, reeking with heat and moisture, and at last stood still wiping his head in the hot sunshine.
“They do you credit, Barnett,” he said. “I’m very glad to see how you have thrown yourself into the gap, and managed now poor John Grange is down; everything looks perfect. I see you have kept the men up to their work.”
“Done my best, Mr Ellis, of course,” said the young man.
“Of course, of course. I told Mrs Mostyn I was sure you would. There, I must be off. Good-morning.”
He started off for the gate, and then turned.
“Oh, by the way, Barnett, poor John Grange is to be sent up to town. I thought you would like to hear. But don’t say a word to him, and—er—I’m always at home of an evening if you care to step up and have a quiet pipe with me, and a bit of music before supper. Good-morning.”