They wandered about the gardens. It was just that time of year, and just the day, in which spring seems most visibly and blessedly coming. The crocuses were in masses of purple and gold, violets and primroses and hepaticas bloomed shyly in sheltered corners, daffodils were beginning to lower their buds and show yellow at their tips. They took as much interest in the garden as in the house. It was to be one of their delights. They had the garden taste, and some knowledge, as many Londoners of their sort have. They made plans, walking along the garden paths, Caroline's arm slipped affectionately into her father's. This was to be their garden to play with, which is a very different thing from admiring other people's gardens, however beautiful and interesting they may be. "George darling, I don't think we _can_ miss all this in the spring and early summer," said Caroline. "Let's get into the house as soon as we can, and cut all the tiresome London parties altogether." CHAPTER IV NEIGHBOURS They were standing by one of the old monks' fish stews, which made such a charming feature of the yew-set formal garden, when a step was heard on the path and they turned to see a cheerful-looking gentleman approaching them, with a smile of welcome on his handsome features. He was a tall man of middle-age, dressed in almost exaggerated country fashion, in rough home-spun, very neat about the gaitered legs, and was followed by a bull-dog of ferocious but endearing aspect. "Ah!" he exclaimed, in a loud and breezy voice as he approached them, "I thought it must be you when I saw your name on the order. If you've forgotten me I shall never forgive you." Grafton was at a loss for a moment. Then his face cleared. "Jimmy Worthing," he said. "Of course. They did mention your name. Cara, this is Mr. Worthing. We were at school together a hundred years or so ago. My eldest daughter, Caroline."