“Hel-lo!” she sang up at him.
Richard was astonished at his own disappointment. Courage to face folks was not always ready at call, and at this precise hour he felt no terrifying shyness. He was not one to be courageous at a moment’s notice; his ridiculous left-handedness had a habit of visiting him when he least desired it; it was a pity that Jerry was not present now when he felt so able.
But to Mrs. Wells he showed no sign either of surprise or disappointment.
“Hel-lo!” he sang cheerfully; and came down the steep irregular steps.
“I’ll never be kind to a Michaelmas daisy again,” she greeted him, trowel in hand.
“Are they ungrateful?” he asked and looked at the black-eyed Susans. “They seem very sweet and ingratiating to me.”
“Oh, I don’t mean the rudbeckia,” she laughed. “They are just as bad, but——”
“Pardon me,” Richard interrupted. “Introduce me to this bad rude Becky; I don’t know her at all.”
“The black-eyed Susans!” she laughed at his ignorance. “You are staring at them. We gardeners call them rudbeckias. You just daren’t let them go to seed; they’d run over the whole place. Just look how they have multiplied since I have been away! But they’re not half so bad as the Michaelmas daisy, who have no right to be in the yellow garden at all.”
“Why, pray?” Richard searched about for the offending member.