She stood a moment, her chin raised, her eyes throwing long, level glances down the walks.
“Mr. Canterton, let me do two or three trial sketches before you decide anything.”
“Just as you like.”
“Please tell me exactly what you want.”
“I want you to begin here, and in the rosery. You see this book of mine is going to be a big thing, a treasure house for the real people who want to know. I shall need portraits of individual flowers, and studies of colour effects during the different months. I shall also want illustrations of many fine gardens that have been put at my service. That is to say, I may have to ask you to travel about a little, to paint some of the special things, such as the Ryecroft Dutch garden, and the Italian gardens at Latimer.”
As he spoke the horizon of her life seemed to broaden before her. It was like the breaking through of a winter dawn when the grey crevices of the east fill with sudden fire. Everything looked bigger, more wonderful, more alluring.
“I had no idea——”
He was watching her face.
“Well?”
“That it was to be such a big thing.”