“Of course he did, my dear,” cried Lady Maria. “He was in a towering rage. How was he to know that you hadn't egged on the gardener?” “By what he knew of me already,” said Sanchia with spirit. Lady Maria twinkled; but her scrutiny was keen. “I don't think you have explained the gardener,” she told her. Sanchia blushed. “He's a boy,” was her suggestion: but Lady Maria's comment on that was, “And a bruiser it seems.” Sanchia smiled gently. “Poor Struan! He was very difficult. He made me furiously angry. What he did was outrageous. But I am sure he is a genius.” “What!” cried her ladyship. “A genius at gardening? or at thrashing gentlemen?” Sanchia said simply, “It's extraordinary what he can do with plants. He's certainly a genius there. He's like a plant himself. He never goes to bed, but walks about the garden all night, talking to them.” “Like a burglar,” said Lady Maria. “Pray, what does he talk to them about? Growing?” “Sometimes, I think. I don't know what he says to them. But he talks about all sorts of things.” “You, for instance?” Lady Maria asked, suddenly; and Sanchia blushed again, and presently looked at Lady Maria. “He's always nice to me,” she said, mildly. “I think,” her ladyship resumed, “I think I like to think of him best in prison;” and then washed him out of her memory as she faced more serious topics. “It will be much better for you to come to me,” she told Sanchia. “I'm an old woman, and an old tyrant, I daresay, but I'm somebody, you know. And I'm pretty lonely, and happen to want company just now. It will be good that you have a foothold to your name when your Nevile Ingram comes after you. I shall bring him to reason quicker than most people, I don't doubt. Your quarrel is absurd; you can't afford to quarrel with your bread and cheese. You've your father, you'll say; but my answer is that it's not very decent to live upon your father when you've got yourself kicked out of his house. I quite see your point of view, mind you. These things will happen, and in theory you're perfectly in the right. It's your practice that won't do. All for love and the world well lost--very fine indeed. But so long as we're in the world, you see, we _can't_ lose it. There it is. Now you've had your kisses, and can afford to settle down; but you must do it in the world's way if you want peace and quietness; and I'm very ready to help you. Really, I don't see anything better for you--short of your own home.” “I shall never go there again,” Sanchia told her, directly. “Very right, my dear,” said the old lady. “Then you had better come to me.” Sanchia said, “I should like that,” and Lady Maria, taking her by the chin, patted her cheek. “And so should I, my dear,” she said--and the thing was as good as settled. Mrs. John, released from her stair-head, came up presently; Bill Chevenix was with her. “Dear Aunt Wenman,” she said, “I haven't had a word with you since you came; but I'm sure you've been happy.”