It was a spot where a man might love to linger on such a night as this. The winding river, showing in fitful glimpses between its shadowy willows; the distant woods; the dim lights of the little quiet town; the tall spire rising above the trees; made up a landscape dearer to Edgar Turchill’s honest English heart than all the blue mountains and vine-clad valleys of the Sunny South. He was a son of the soil, with all his desires and prejudices and affections rooted in the land on which he had been born. ‘How sweet—how completely lovable she is,’ he said to himself, meditating over that final cigarette, ‘and how thoroughly she trusts me! Her mind is as clear as a rivulet, through which one can count every pebble and every grain of golden sand.’ CHAPTER XII. ‘AND TO THE DINNER FASTE THEY HEM SPEDDE.’ Mr. MacCloskie’s suggestions for new hot-houses at Goring Abbey were on so large a scale as to necessitate a good deal of consultation with architect and builder before the new constructions and alterations of existing structures were put in hand. The head gardener at South Hill had tried his hardest to secure the whole organisation and direction of the work for himself, and to have large powers in the choice of the men who were to carry it out. ‘Ye’ll not need any architect, Mr. Goring, if ye’ll joost let me explain my mind to the builder,’ said this modest Caledonian. ‘Architects know a deal about the Parthenon and the Temple of the Winds, and that kind of old-fashioned classical stuff, but there’s not one of ’em knows how to plan a good workable hot-house, or to build a flue that won’t smoke when the wind’s contrary. Architects are very good for the fronts of clubhouses and ceevil-service stores, and that like; but if you trust your new houses to an architect, I’ll give odds when they’re done there’ll be no place for me to put my coals. If you’ll just give me free scope——’ ‘You are very good, Mr. MacCloskie,’ answered Gerald with velvety softness, ‘but my father was a thoroughly practical man, and I believe he knew as much of the science of construction as any man living; yet he always employed an architect when he wanted anything built for himself, were it only a dustbin. I’ll stick to his lines.’ ‘Very well, sir, you must please yourself. But an orchid-house is a creetical thing to build. The outside of it may be as handsome as St. Peter’s at Rome; but your orchids won’t thrive unless they like the inside arrangements, and for them ye’ll want a practical man.’ ‘I’ll get a practical man, Mr. MacCloskie; you may be sure of that,’ answered Gerald, ineffably calm, though the Scot was looking daggers.