For the gardener made his theories, while the suffragette’s theories made her. The gardener was awakened next morning by the loud noise of Scottie chasing lizards across the room. Scottie was a bristly Northerner, and never became really used to the conditions of tropical life. To this day he labours under the delusion that lizards are only bald or naked mice, that have deceitfully changed their smell and their taste. The gardener thought that he awoke perfectly light-hearted. He did not recognise the curious thing that throbbed in the back of his consciousness as his heart. He whistled in his bath. He whistled as he came out on to the verandah for breakfast. Courtesy had risen for early breakfast by mistake. “Stopped brooding?” she asked. “Brave boy.” “Two and two is such a poor formation after all,” said the gardener. “One and one is much more comfortable.” Courtesy giggled. “There are times,” she said, “when two and two is ripping. Mr. Wise is coming up to lunch.” “He came up to lunch yesterday. And he’s coming up to tea to-morrow.” “Yesterday and to-morrow are not to-day,” said Courtesy, that practical girl. The gardener had not time to ponder, for Mrs. Rust then appeared. Her complexion was even more of a contrast to her hair than usual. “I had a letter last night,” she said. “I didn’t tell you at once, because it’s such a vulgar habit to blurt out news. I don’t know whether I have mentioned my son Samuel to you?” “You have,” said Courtesy. “So have I,” added the gardener. “His house has played him false—I knew it would. One of the ceilings gave way—on to Samuel. Him and his house—he always was a fool. I believe he thought the Almighty built his house for him.” “Yes, but what happened to Samuel?” “I told you—the ceiling fell on him.” “Yes, but what is the result?” “Oh, the rest of the house is still standing. It was only one of the ceilings. He put the billiard table upstairs, and probably had his rafters made of bamboo.” “Yes, but I mean what was the result as far as Samuel was concerned?” “He was concussion. There have been one or two people staying in the house since he started the atrocious practice of advertising, and they had him taken to a hospital. My letter is from the matron.” “Poor Mrs. Rust,” said Courtesy, “you must be terribly worried. I suppose you’ll be wantin’ to get home by the next boat.” “Stuff and nonsense,” snapped the mother. “Haven’t you noticed by now that I have iron nerves. Next boat—indeed.” “But I should have thought——” began Courtesy, and the gardener kicked her under the table. “There is only one perfectly obvious thing to do,” said the gardener, “and that is wait till the next mail, a fortnight hence. Knowing Mrs. Rust as I do, Courtesy, I am sure she will follow this obvious course.”