"Just my sentiments!" cried Peggy; but when in due time Rob escorted her to see his precious garden, her face was blank with disappointment. Two straggling beds with a rockery filling up the corner, and scarcely a gleam of colour from one end to another! That at least was the effect from a distance, but as the proprietor pointed out his treasures, insignificant little blossoms were distinguishable among the greenery, and flowers the size of a threepenny piece were produced proudly from lurking-places and exhibited for admiration. They all came from some unheard-of spots at the other side of nowhere, had been reared with prodigious difficulty, and were of such rarity and value that the heads of public gardens had paid special pilgrimage to The Larches in order to behold them. Peggy's eyebrows went up in a peak, and her face lengthened, but it was no use, she could not be enthusiastic, could not even affect an interest in the struggling little lives. After exclaiming: "How strange!" "How odd!" and "Fancy that!" a dozen times in succession, her very powers of exclamation seemed to depart, and she was reduced to sighs and grunts of response. In the middle of the history of a jungle plant which was the glory of the collection, Rob suddenly lifted his head and put a startling question: "Are you interested? Do you care to hear about it?" Peggy looked at him and made a little sign of apology. "Not--_much_, Rob! It's curious, of course, but very `niggly,' don't you think? It makes no effect at all in the bed." Rob rose from his knees, flicked the dust off his trousers, and cleared his throat in that dry sepulchral manner which people adopt when they long to say something sharp and cutting, but are too high-minded to allow themselves to do so. Then he pushed his cap back from his head, whistled three bars of a popular tune, and said politely: "There are some pink peonies coming out in the drive. Better come along and see them." "Robert Darcy, I will--not--be--patronised!" cried Peggy, flashing indignant eyes upon him from the altitude of his highest waistcoat button. "Don't pink peony me, if you please! If it comes to a matter of taste, I prefer my own to yours. You have an interesting museum, sir, but, allow me to tell you, a most inadequate garden!" Then Rob was obliged to laugh, and in that laugh lost the last trace of vexation. "Sorry, Peg! I'm a crusty beggar, but it's your own fault if I expected too much. You were always so patient with my hobbies that I thought you would be interested in this too. I'll do penance for baring you by helping to arrange your garden in the way you _do_ like. We'll draw out our plans together, or rather you shall give the orders, and I'll do the work. Any leading ideas to offer?"