Well, I gondolaed home and fell into Agatha’s arms, then discovered Bertie’s welcome. He had—himself, mind you—tacked that most beautiful of shrubs, the ground pine, all over the walls of the living-room. They looked a mass of soft green and gold and the antlered heads of the deer seemed to be set in their native woods. On the table was a great bunch of crimson sweet peas—incomparably more fragrant than ours—sent by Jemima, and a bowl of water-lilies from Mrs. Laurence.
After I had answered all of Agatha’s questions and assured her that I was as well as ever—she thinks I am thin, but how I have tramped!—Bertie and I went out and gondolaed round the lake. It was just five o’clock. The men were going home from the tennis court, and waved their hats at me and gave the unearthly wood call.
Then, suddenly, all the doors opened, and the women in their bright muslin gowns flitted out and waved their handkerchiefs to me. It was a pretty sight and a graceful act. Of course, I landed and they said a great many of their charming things.
When I went home another surprise awaited me—in my room. On the table was a box of splendid roses and an elaborate basket of chocolates tied with yards of my favourite bright blue ribbon. Mr. Nugent’s card was attached. Of course he had sent to New York for them.
I don’t think I ever went to bed feeling so happy.
Helen.
21st
I suppose we have all taken note of that malignant influence in the unseen world which makes us unreasoningly and unguardedly happy just before our stiffest blows. One would think these bitter contrasts were purposely arranged to destroy our power of philosophy.
It was at breakfast that I was confounded, more nearly knocked over than I ever was in my life.
“By the way, Nell,” Bertie remarked casually, “what a ripping fine woman Mrs. Coward is.”