"Howde, sir," he remarked, affably.
"How are you, Thomson? Glad to see you again," said Hemming, extending his hand.
The old gardener gave back a step, with a slight cry and an uptossing of gnarled hands.
He recovered himself with an effort.
"God bless me, it's Master Herbert," he exclaimed. "Do you know, missus, I thought it was the doctor askin' how I was," he continued, turning to his wife, "but the master was a more sizable man,—yes, an' redder i' the face."
"Ay," replied Mrs. Thomson, "but hansome is as hansome does—meanin' nothin' disrespectful about the old master, God bless his memory, dear man,—and Master Bert is a fine appearin' young gentleman."
The gaffer nodded. "The lasses wud believe you, missus," he said.
"What lasses do you mean?" inquired the old woman, sharply. "Where's the lass i' this village fit to believe anything about one o' the queen's officers—tell me that."
"Ay, I was sayin' nothin'," replied Thomson.
The woman looked quizzically at Hemming.