"The gentleman and lady don't seem to be having any breakfast, sir," she said.
"Why not?"
"I'm sure I can't tell you, sir. Mr—Mr Rose asked where you were, and then said perhaps I'd better keep breakfast back."
"Where are Mr Rose and Miss Oliphant now?"
"They went off that way, sir." She nodded in the direction of the kitchen-garden.
"Then I'll see about it. Have breakfast ready in ten minutes, please."
The kitchen-garden is not very large, but it is a straggling sort of place, being, in fact, the oddments of ground left over when the tennis-court was made. I looked for my guests among the dewy canes, but did not see them; they were not behind the sweet-pea hedge that made my lungs open of themselves to receive its fragrance. But they had been there, for I saw that the roller on the court had been moved. Its barrel was wet all round with dew, and the patch of grass where it had stood during the night was dry.
Then, just as I was on the point of calling their names, they appeared from behind the tall artichoke brake.
I spoke first, ignoring what Mrs Moxon had told me.
"Good morning," I called. "Breakfast is just ready. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. Come along."