Philip's habit of neatness and instinct of gardening led him to stop a moment and nip off a couple of ill-localised buds from a rose. In effect the two others got a little further ahead of them. This may or may not have been intentional. "All my information is at her service," he said--"particularly on the subject of roses, about which I know more than South African mines." "And care more!" suggested Madge. "Infinitely more. Are they not clearly more attractive?" Madge looked at him curiously. "I believe you really think so," she said. "And that is so odd. Doesn't the scheming, the calculation, the foresight required in financial things interest you enormously?" "Certainly; but I scheme just as much over the roses. Whether this one is to have--well, a whisky-and-soda, or whether it is rheumatic and wants a lowering treatment; that is just as interesting in itself as whether South Africans want lowering or screwing up." "You mean you can do that? You can send things up or down? You can say to us, to mother: 'You shall be poorer to-morrow or richer'?" Philip laughed. "I suppose so, to some extent. Pray don't let us talk about it. It sounds rather brutal, and I am afraid it is brutalising. Yet, after all, a landlord may put up the rent of his houses." Madge Ellington walked on for a few paces without replying. "How odd of you," she said at length, "not to feel the fascination of power. I don't mean to say that one would necessarily want to use it, but it must be so divine to know it is there. Well, if you wish, I won't talk about it." Philip turned to her, his brown thin face looking suddenly eager. "Ah, I would sooner hear you talk about what you please than about what I please," he said. She laughed. "Can't I manage to combine the two?" she said. "The river, for instance, I think we both love that. Will you promise to let me live on the river while I am here?" "I warn you that you will have a good deal of my company, then," said he. She laughed again. "But as you are my host I can't decently object," she said. "Oh, tell me, Mr. Home, what is Mr. Dundas like? You are a great friend of his, are you not? He was at tea, and asked a series of the silliest riddles, which somehow made me giggle. Giggle hopelessly, do you understand; they were so stupid. And he is the Mr. Dundas, who paints everybody as if they were so much more interesting than they are?" "Yes, evidently the same," said Philip. "And what you say is quite true. Yet, again, as you say, his conversation is futile beyond words." Madge walked on again in silence a little. "I think that combination is rather charming," she said. "People don't laugh enough, and certainly he makes one laugh. I wish I laughed more, for instance." "And has Merivale come?" asked Philip. "Yes; he was at tea, too. What does he do?" "He doesn't do anything. He just thinks." "Good heavens! how frightfully fatiguing. All the time, do you mean?"