Claire felt as if she also was in fairyland, but she did not say so. There are things that a girl does not say. They paced up and down the winding paths, and came to the flight of steps leading to the pergola, “The Flowery Way” as Mrs Fanshawe loved to call it, where the arenaria calearica shone starry white in the moonlight. Erskine stopped short, and said urgently—
“Would you mind walking on alone for a few yards? I’ll stand here ... while you go up the steps. Please!”
Claire stared in surprise, but there seemed no reason to deny so simple a request.
“And what am I to do when I get there?”
“Just stand still for a moment, and then walk on... I’ll come after!”
Claire laughed, shrugged, and went slowly forward along the flagged path, up the flower-sprinkled stair, to pause beneath an arch of pink roses and look back with an inquiring smile. Erskine was standing where she had left him, but he did not smile in response, while one might have counted twenty, he remained motionless, his look grave and intent, then he came quickly forward, leapt up the shallow steps and stood by her side.
“Thank you!” he said tersely, but that was all. Neither then or later came any explanation of the strange request.
For a few moments there was silence, then Erskine harked back to his former subject.
“Scottish scenery is very fine, but for restful loveliness, Surrey is hard to beat. You haven’t told me yet how you like our little place, Miss Gifford! It’s on a very modest scale, but I’m fond of it. There’s a homey feeling about it that one misses in bigger places, and the mater is a genius at gardening, and gets the maximum of effect out of the space. Are you fond of a garden?”
“I’ve never had one!” Claire said, and sighed at the thought. “That’s one of the Joys that does not go with a roving life! I’ve never been able to have as many flowers as I wanted, or to choose the right foliage to go with them, or to pick them with the dew on their leaves.” She paused, smitten with a sudden recollection. “One day this year, a close, smouldering oven-ey day, I came in from school and found—a box full of roses! There were dewdrops on the leaves, or what looked like dewdrops. They were as fresh as if they had been gathered an hour before. Dozens of roses, with great long stems. They made my room into a bower.”