Rowton’s face wore a quizzical expression.
“Where is the entrance?” asked Nancy. “I am dying to see the garden.”
“Not to-day,” replied her husband. He drew her hand through his arm.
They walked on in silence for a moment, then he bent down and looked at her.
“Are you vexed, little woman?” he asked.
“I try not to be,” she answered; “but it seems a simple thing just to show me that last garden. I have never seen a proper Queen Anne garden, and this one——”
“You feel a pin prick of natural womanly curiosity,” said Rowton; “suppress it, dearest. Now I am going to confide in you to a certain extent. I did not mean to, but I see that it is necessary. I have brought you to a beautiful home, have I not?”
“Lovely—a palace,” said Nancy.
“The whole place is yours,” continued her husband: “the house, the ground, with—with a reservation.”
“Yes?” she asked, looking up at him with parted lips.