"I don't know," she said. "His gardeners did the work, after all."
"They don't get the thanks."
"That is not what one works for," said Eleanor smiling. "So the thing is done—what matter?"
"If it isn't done,—what matter? No, no! I want to get the good of what I do,—in praise or in something else."
"What is Sir Ralph Darling the better of my thanks now?"
"Well, he's dead!" said Mr. Esthwaite.
"So I was thinking."
"Well, what do you mean? Do you mean that you would do nothing while you are alive, for fear you would not hear of it after you have left the world?"
"Not exactly."
"What then? I don't know what you are after."