"I know," said Margaret, "what it must be like, a garden of rocks and the white surf for flowers. Your gardener is the wind—I should like your garden."
"From my cottage," he answered, "the wall goes down three hundred feet sheer to the breakers."
"Oh, I can see it! A wonderful cliff with big outstanding stacks and bastions, where the sea-eagles breed. How beautiful! But can you live there in winter?"
"Yes. I had a fright though once when a sea wrecked my study."
"At three hundred feet?"
"Seas have been known to break higher than that. My sister and I spend many an hour watching the big sou'-westers. Then the spray lashes miles inland over the city."
"And what is your sister like?"
"I believe she is plain," he looked at the Queen; "yes, she must be very plain, but somehow I never thought of that till now. I'll ask her."
"Please don't," said Margaret, hastily, "she might be angry."
"I'd rather not then," his grey eyes twinkled. "Sarah has so many things to vex her."