Did I call you Browning? How absurd! I meant Ellis.... Oh, the tea! Yes, of course. Please put everything near me on the table. (_He does so._) (_She repeats dreamily_) _... the tears of two...._ ELLIS. I beg your pardon, my lady? LADY PATRICIA. Nothing. I will look after myself. (_ELLIS turns to go._) Oh, Ellis.... ELLIS. Yes, my lady? LADY PATRICIA. You have brought only one cup. ELLIS. I thought you were taking tea by yourself, my lady. LADY PATRICIA. Please bring another cup. ELLIS. Yes, my lady. And milk and cream, my lady? LADY PATRICIA. Milk and cream.... (_After a dreamy pause._) Yes, I am afraid so. But don’t put it on the table. Hide it in the summer-house. And will you send Baldwin to me? ELLIS. Yes, my lady. (_He goes out._) LADY PATRICIA. (_Turns over the pages of a MS., and then reads with thrilling beauty._) _When I am dead, my dearest,_ _Sing no sad songs for me,_ _Plant thou no roses at my head,_ _Nor shady cypress-tree._ _Be green the grass above me,_ _With showers and dewdrops wet,_ _And if thou wilt, remember,_ _And if thou wilt, forget._ _I shall not see the shadows,_ _I shall not feel the rain,_ _I shall not hear the nightingale_ _Sing on as if in pain._ _And dreaming through the twilight_ _That doth not rise or set,_ _Haply I may remember,_ _And haply may forget._ (_With dramatic emphasis._) _When I am dead, my dearest——_ (_Enter BALDWIN, a gardener of about seventy, heavy, slow, phlegmatic._) BALDWIN. (_In spite of LADY PATRICIA’S raised hand._) Beg pardon, m’lady? LADY PATRICIA. _Sing no sad songs_—— (_Fretfully._) Oh, Baldwin, what do you want? BALDWIN. Mr. Ellis said as you wished to speak to me, mum. LADY PATRICIA. Mr. Ellis?... Oh, yes, I remember now. What is it I wanted to tell you? BALDWIN. Mr. Ellis didn’t make mention, m’lady. LADY PATRICIA. How stupid of him! (_She regards BALDWIN dreamily._) Baldwin.... BALDWIN. Yes, ’um? LADY PATRICIA. You ought to be very happy. BALDWIN. Yes, ’um. LADY PATRICIA. Very happy. Because you are a gardener. I can imagine no calling more beautiful. You are the father of innumerable children, and they are all lovely. BALDWIN. Thank ’ee, m’lady. I’ve ’ad thirteen—and two of ’em by my first wife. LADY PATRICIA. Thir-teen!... Good heavens, Baldwin, what are you talking about? BALDWIN. You made mention of my family, m’lady. LADY PATRICIA. Oh, but I meant the flowers you tend and rear. The gillyflowers and eglantine, myrtle, rosemary, columbine, and daffydowndillies. Not—how strange and dreadful! Thirteen! BALDWIN. I’ve ’eard tell that thirteen’s an unlucky number, m’lady. But I ain’t suspicious. LADY PATRICIA. Suspicious? BALDWIN.