“I shall so enjoy a game of croquet in a real garden!” cried Rosa. “We play it in the square sometimes; but the little boys and the bakers’ and butchers’ young men outside the rails are so dreadfully trying, especially when the balls won’t go where one wants them, owing to nervousness; and I’m sure it’s enough to make anybody nervous to have a strange chimney-sweep calling out, ‘Well done, butter-fingers!’ if one drops a mallet; and _that_ square-keeper is never within sight when wanted.” “Does Tredethlyn go with you to-morrow?” asked Harcourt Lowther presently; he had been very thoughtful for the last few minutes. “No,” Maude answered, rather sadly. “I asked Frank to drive me down in the mail-phaeton; but he told me he was going a little way out of town on business.” She was thinking how very great a change had come to pass since her husband had been her adoring slave, only too happy to follow wherever she pleased to lead him. Now there was no quarrel, no actual misunderstanding between them; but there was quite a wide breach, as if they had agreed to separate after a long series of domestic battles. “Roderick and I will come down to the Cedars to-morrow,” said Harcourt, bending over Maude’s chair, “unless you forbid us to do so. The river is delightful just now, and you may want the services of a couple of boatmen.” “We shall be very glad to see you, if you like to come,” Mrs. Tredethlyn answered, carelessly. Looking up just then, she saw Miss Grunderson’s round eyes fixed upon her with a very earnest expression. Rosa had heard all sorts of insinuations respecting Mr. Lowther’s constant attendance upon Mrs. Tredethlyn, and the young lady was wondering whether her darling Maude did really deserve any of the reprobation that had been showered upon her as a flirting matron. “There’s a way of saying ‘How do you do?’ or ‘Pretty well, thanks,’ that seems like flirting,” mused Miss Grunderson; “and Mr. Lowther always has that way when he talks to Mrs. Tredethlyn. I _know_ she is too good to be a flirt, in spite of all those malicious people may say about her; and I don’t like Harcourt Lowther a bit, for _he_ must know how his flirting manner is talked about, though she doesn’t. I’ve seen half-a-dozen opera-glasses turned this way to-night, just because he’s been bending over her chair in that whispering way of his. And yet he has only been talking of croquet.” Rosa’s friendship was quite as ardent as her love, and much more lasting. Mrs. Tredethlyn’s gentleness had quite subdued that affectionate little heart, and the market-gardener’s daughter would have been willing to make any effort in her friend’s service. She was a very energetic little girl, with a good deal of that moral courage which is sometimes wanting in more delicate natures. To put the fact in her own words, Rosa was able to speak her mind, and to speak it very freely too, whenever the occasion called for candour.