The dining-room was a distinct improvement on the drawing-room, as is invariably the case when the mistress of the house is devoid of taste. The mahogany furniture was solid and purposeful, and the family portraits on the red flock walls added an air of richness to the prevailing comfort. The table itself was beautifully spread with the finest of napery and some treasured pieces of old family silver. Six specimen glasses were set at equal distances, each bearing a head of geranium and a spray of maidenhair fern; two white-capped maids stood stiffly at attention. "Piers, my dear," said Mrs Rendall primly, "will you ask a blessing?" During the progress of the first course the conversation was general and futile. The party was too small to allow of separate conversations: the young people seemed inclined to allow their elders to lead the way, and as one old lady seemed determined to cling tenaciously to one subject, and the other to dash continually to pastures new, the result was something confusing. Vanna felt the pressure of Jean's foot on her own, and received a twinkling glance of amusement. "Now!" said the glance as plainly as words could speak. "The fun's beginning. Let them have it to themselves." "No! I never disturb my borders," announced Mrs Rendall firmly. "Neither bulbs nor perennials. My gardener says--" "But you remember the Totteridges!" Miggles interrupted, insistently smiling. "Emily Mackintosh. She married the son of the old man, Rev Totteridge, Vicar of Newley. My sister Susan was bridesmaid. Pink taffetas. All the go. He went out to India and was killed by a tiger. Poor Emily! You know their garden. That border by the church wall--" "_My_ gardener says--" "Emily always divided the bulbs. Some people leave them for three years. Our old landlord over at Sutton--did you know the Dixons? _Charming_ family! They used to come over and play croquet with us at my old home. The second son was a dear fellow, but stuttered. So sad when a man stutters. What was I saying, dear? I _do_ wander! Oh, yes! Old Mr Dixon moved them every autumn--" "My gardener says--" "But they grew so matted. You know! _Matted_! Jungles! I always say take a middle course. When I was spending my holiday in Devonshire I had tea in a lovely old garden. Clotted cream. Did you ever try it with marmalade? De-licious! All the lilies in one bed, and a stream running through. `Cool Siloam.' Couldn't help thinking of it, you know, but not in an irreverent spirit. Wouldn't be irreverent for the world. It's the spirit that matters, isn't it, dear--the spirit, not the letter? The scent of those lilies--" "My gardener says--"