"One could buy Witch Wood for a song, I believe; you know it runs along the paddock. Think of it, all Witch Wood for a wild garden." "And no trespassers! No trampled hyacinths any more! Or ginger-beer bottles! Oh, Roger!" A delighted, delightful Alwynne was forgetting all about the tulips; but they nodded very pleasantly for all that. "A footpath through to The Dears' garden, and my glass-houses. And chickens in a corner of the paddock. You'd have to undertake those." "All white ones!" "Better have Buff Orpingtons. Lay better. Remember Jean's troubles: 'Really, the Amount of Eggs----'" "Dear Jean. And besides, I shall want some for clutches. I adore them when they're all fluff and squeak; and ducklings too, Roger. We won't have incubators, will we?" "Rather not. Lord, it will be sport. You're to wear print dresses at breakfast, Alwynne--lilac, with spots." "You're very particular----" "Like that one you wore at the Fair----you know." "Oh, that one! Do you mean to say----All right. But I shall wear tea-gowns every afternoon--with lace and frillies. Elsbeth says they're theatrical." "All right! We'll eat muffins----" "And read acres of books----" "May I smoke?" "It'll get into the curtains----" "I'll get you a new lot once a week----" "And we won't ever be at home to callers----" "Just us two." Alwynne sighed contentedly. "Oh, Roger, it would be rather nice. You can invent beautifully." He laughed. "Then we'll consider that settled." He bent his head and kissed her.