Later they went down to the old garden. It stretched back behind the house for some distance, shut in by a high stone wall. A long, straight alley, shaded by even rows of trees, went down one side like a mathematical line; on the other there was some of the stiff landscape-gardening of the last century. In the open space in the centre was a moss-grown fish-pond, and near the house a dignified little company of clipped trees. They strolled down the straight walk: this time Ford was with Mrs. Winthrop, while Sylvia, Mr. Percival, and Cousin Walpole were in front. "I suppose she used to walk here," observed Mrs. Winthrop. "In her turban," suggested Ford. "Perhaps she has sat upon that very bench--who knows?--and mused," said Sylvia, imaginatively. "Aloud, of course," commented her nephew. But these irreverent remarks were in undertone; only Mrs. Winthrop could hear them. "No doubt they all walked here," observed the poet; "it was one of the customs of the time to take slow exercise daily in one of these dignified alleys. The whole society of Coppet was no doubt often here, Madame de Staël and her various guests, Schlegel, Constant, the Montmorency, Sismondi, Madame Récamier, and many others." "Would that I too could have been of that company!" said Cousin Walpole, with warmth. "Which one of the two ladies would you have accompanied down this walk, if choice had been forced upon you?" said Mrs. Winthrop. "Which one?--Madame de Staël, of course," replied the little bachelor, chivalrously. "And you, Mr. Percival?" "With the one who had the intellect," replied the poet. "We must be even more lacking in beauty than we suppose, Sylvia, since they all chose the plain one," said Katharine, laughing. "But you have not spoken yet, Mr. Ford: what would your choice have been?" "Between the two, there would hardly have been one." "Isn't that a little enigmatical?" "John means that he admires them equally," explained the aunt. "That is it," said her nephew. Lunch was spread upon the grass. Mrs. Winthrop's coachman had made an impromptu carpet of carriage rugs and shawls. Percival threw himself down beside the ladies; Cousin Walpole, after trying various attitudes, took the one denominated "cross-legged." Ford surveyed their group for a moment, then went off and came back with a garden bench; upon this he seated himself comfortably, with his back against a tree. "You are not sufficiently humble, Mr. Ford," said Katharine. "It is not a question of humility, but of grace. I have not the gifts of Mr. Percival." Percival said nothing. He was graceful; why disclaim it? "But you are very strong, John," said Sylvia, with an intention of consolation. "And if not exactly graceful, I am sure you are very well shaped." Her hearers, including Ford himself, tried not to laugh, but failed. There was a burst of merriment.