In the exquisite garden Sir Isaac said: “One might make a very pretty little garden of this—if one opened it out a bit.”
And of the sunken rock-garden: “That might be dangerous of a dark night.”
“I suppose,” he said, indicating the hill of pines behind, “one could buy or lease some of that. If one wanted to throw it into the place and open out more.
“From my point of view,” he said, “it isn’t a house. It’s——” He sought in his mind for an expression—“a Cottage Ornay.”
This history declines to record either what Mr. Brumley said or what he did not say.
Sir Isaac surveyed the house thoughtfully for some moments from the turf edging of the great herbaceous border.
“How far,” he asked, “is it from the nearest railway station?...”
Mr. Brumley gave details.
“Four miles. And an infrequent service? Nothing in any way suburban? Better to motor into Guildford and get the Express. H’m.... And what sort of people do we get about here?”
Mr. Brumley sketched.