"I must come and have a look at it," said Hartley.
"Not yet," said the young man, hastily. "Not yet. I shouldn't like you to see it just yet. Is Miss Hartley well?"
Mr. Hartley said she was, and, in an abstracted fashion, led the way down the garden to where an enormous patch of land—or so it seemed to Mr. Saunders—awaited digging. The latter removed his coat and, hanging it with great care on an apple tree, turned back his cuffs and seized the fork.
"It's grand exercise," said Mr. Hartley, after watching him for some time.
"Grand," said Mr. Saunders, briefly.
"As a young man I couldn't dig enough," continued the other, "but nowadays it gives me a crick in the back."
"Always?" inquired Mr. Saunders, with a slight huskiness.
"Always," said Mr. Hartley. "But I never do it now; Joan won't let me."
Mr. Saunders sighed at the name and resumed his digging. "Miss Hartley out?" he asked presently, in a casual voice.
"Yes; she won't be home till late," said the other. "We can have a fine evening's work free of interruptions. I'll go and get on with my weeding."