“Put up a notice, ‘Trowels not admitted.’ I am writing to Mr. Woolridge. Oh, and there are those American people coming to-morrow, who want to be shown roses, and flowering shrubs. Will you take them round? I fancy I shall be busy.”
Canterton returned to the rosery, and, picking up a stray chair in one of the main paths, joined Eve Carfax, who had a little green Japanese tea-tray on her lap. She was pouring out tea from a tiny brown teapot, her wrist making a white arch, her lashes sweeping her cheek.
“They have brought your tea all right?”
“Yes.”
“What about cakes?”
She bent down and picked up a plate from the path.
“Someone must fancy me a hungry schoolgirl.”
“It looks rather like it. How is the painting going?”
“I am rather pleased with it.”
“Good. On show soon?”