"It was my frock. Gray always makes people look pale."
"Does it? I've liked that frock so much—and I had an idea gray and purple went together."
"They do—beautifully. And to-morrow, after the violets have been in water, they'll be quite fresh—and so shall I. To tell the honest truth, so many dinners—well, I'm not used to them. I'm just a little bit glad to remember that spring is coming on soon, and I can get out in my old garden and dig and rake, and watch the things come out."
"Yes—you're one of the outdoor creatures," said the Philosopher, leaning back in his chair in the old way—he had been sitting up quite straight. "I understand it—I like gardens myself. And your garden most of all. Do you realize, between your absences and my long stay in Germany, it's three summers since I've strolled about your garden?"
"So long? Yes, it must be."
"But I mean to be at home this summer. Do you?"
"And so we renewed the old vow"
"I? Yes, I think so. After so long a winter outing—or inning—I couldn't bear to miss the garden this year. And Lad will be home—his first vacation. He is fond of the old garden, too."
"May I come?" asked the Philosopher rather abruptly.