“Yes. I don’t want to leave the rose till I have seen the whole cycle. And Mrs. Canterton said she was sending one of the maids down to cut some roses.”
Lavender went off, and returned in about five minutes with a girl in a straw hat and a plain white linen dress. He stood in one of the openings through the yew hedge and pointed out Canterton to her with a practical forefinger.
“That’s Mr. Canterton over there.”
She thanked him and walked on.
Canterton was bending forward over the rose, and remained unaware of her presence till he heard footsteps close to him on the paved path.
“Mr. Canterton?”
“Yes.”
He stood up, and lifted his hat. She was shy of him, and shy of asking for what she had come to ask. Her blue eyes, with their large pupils looked almost black—sensitive eyes that clouded quickly.
“I am afraid I am disturbing you.”
He liked her from the first moment, because of her voice, a voice that spoke softly in a minor key, and did not seem in a hurry.