"These gifts are a merciful dispensation of Providence."
"Maybe," said he drily. "Only they were about the size of bacteria when I started, and it took me years of incessant toil to develop them."
He asked to be shown around the garden. She took him up the gravelled walks beside her gay borders and her roses, telling him the names and varieties of the flowers. Once he stopped and frowned.
"I've lost my bearings. We ought to be passing under the shade of the old walnut tree."
"You are quite right," she said, marvelling at his accuracy. "It stood a few steps back, but it was blown clean down three years ago. It had been dead for a long time."
He chuckled as he strolled on. "There's nothing makes me so mad as to be mistaken."
Some time later, on their return to the terrace, he held out his hand.
"But you'll stay for dinner, Roger," she exclaimed. "I can't bear to think of you spending your first evening at home in that awful 'Red Lion.'"
"That's very dear of you, Winnie," he said, evidently touched by the softness in her voice. "I'll dine with pleasure, but I must get off some letters first. I'll come back. You've no objection to my bringing my man with me?"
"Why, of course not." She laid her hand lightly on his arm. "Oh, Roger, dear, I wish I could tell you how sorry I am, how my heart aches for you!"