"About half way from the house," said he smiling at her eyes, "a glade opens which merges at last in the head of the glen--I planted my roses there--the circumstances of the ground were very happy for disposing them according to my wish."
"And how far?"
"The roses?--O all the way, and some distance down the glen. Not a continuous thicket of them," he added smiling again,--"I wished each kind to stand so that its peculiar beauty should be fully relieved and appreciated; and that would have been lost in a crowd."
"Yes, I know it," said Fleda;--"one's eye rests upon the chief objects of attraction and the others are hardly seen,--they do not even serve as foils. And they must shew beautifully against that dark background of firs and larches!"
"Yes--and the windings of the ground gave me every sort of situation and exposure. I wanted room too for the different effects of masses of the same kind growing together and of fine individuals or groups standing alone where they could shew the full graceful development of their nature."
"What a pleasure!--What a beauty it must be!"
"The ground is very happy--many varieties of soil and exposure were needed for the plants of different habits, and I found or made them all. The rocky beginnings of the glen even furnished me with south walls for the little tea-roses, and the Macartneys and Musk roses,--the Banksias I kept nearer home."
"Do you know them all, Mr. Carleton?"
"Not quite," said he smiling at her.
"I have seen one Banksia--the Macartney is a name that tells me nothing."