"Dimbie," I called, "you might climb over into the frog-pond field and bring me some marguerites."
"Aren't they over?"
"If they are bring me some loosestrife and, scabious and anything you can find. I long for some wild-flowers."
Lazily he threw a leg over the fence and disappeared.
"He'll be away some time now. Dimbie never does anything quickly; he is slow and thorough, and he will endeavour to find the largest daisies in the field."
"I suppose when I—if I were ever married my wife"—he stumbled over the words—"might ask me to pick daisies for her?"
"Perhaps. But a great deal depends upon the man. I cannot imagine my father picking flowers for mother; he would more likely throw them at her."
Dr. Renton smiled. He had known Peter as long as I.
"I wonder whether you will find Miss Fairbrother much changed? She is eight years older, you know."
"Of course," he said placidly.