“Royal and Ancient, you goose!” he roared.
“Oh, yes, of course, Royal and Ancient. Then the North Berwick one—that’s six. Then there’s....”
At that moment the Doña arrived for tea, cutting them off for the time from this grotesque source of pride; as in her presence there could be no talk of Drumsheugh and “Uncle Jimmy.”
“Yes, the garden is forging ahead. What I like is roses; do you think this will be a good year for them? But I do like them to have a smell.”
“Guy says that Shakespeare is wrong and that there is something in a name, and that the reason they don’t smell so sweet now is that they’re called by absurd names like ‘Hugh Dickson’ and ‘Frau Karl Druschke.’”
“Well, how does he explain that Frau Karl has been called ‘Snow Queen’ since the War and still hasn’t any smell?”
“By the way, where is Guy? We haven’t seen him since the dance at Christmas. Do you remember how queer he was the next morning?”
“He’s been in Spain, but he should be back soon,” said Arnold, with a resentful look at Teresa.
Then Anna and Jasper trotted across the lawn and on to the loggia, both very grubby; Jasper carrying a watering-can.
“We’ve been gardening,” said Anna proudly.