‘I am always and altogether at your service, dear Miss Eve.’
‘Why have you taken to gardening? Are you fond of flowers?’
‘I am devoted to flowers.’
‘So am I. I pick them.’
‘And throw them away,’ said Jasper, stooping and collecting those she had strewn on the path.
‘Well—I have not the patience to garden. I leave all that to Barbara and old Christopher. I wish things generally, gardens included, would go along without giving trouble. I wish my sister were home.’
‘To relieve you of all responsibility and trouble.’
‘I hate trouble,’ said Eve frankly, ‘and responsibility is like a burr in one’s clothes—detestable. There! you are laughing at me, Mr. Jasper.’
‘I am not laughing, I am sighing.’