“Nor azaleas?”
“Nor azaleas—at least, as they grow here.”
A shadow crossed the open doorway.
“M’Gourley San,” said Campanula, who was seated facing the door.
“Dinna rise,” said M’Gourley. “I’ve had ma breakfast, and I’ll juist tak a seat on the verandy till y’ve done.”
“I’m done,” said Leslie, forgetful of grammar, and rising up, he came out, the Japan Mail under his arm, and a briar root in his hand.
They talked business a while, and then Leslie said:
“I say.”
“Weel?”
“You remember that woman I told you of on the Nikko road?”