'About the market gardener. And the way his house is--Ever since we came back to England she's been going on at me about it. I told her all along I couldn't leave you, but she's always said (since that day you walked about with the baby and gave him the beads to play with, and wouldn't let her make him cry by taking them away)--ever since then my cousin has said you'd understand.' 'What would I understand?' Wark laid her hand on the nearest of the shining bars of brass, and slowly she polished it with her open palm. She obviously found it difficult to go on with her defence. 'I wanted my cousin to come and explain to you.' Here was Wark in a new light indeed! If she really wanted any creature on the earth to speak for her. As she stood there in stolid embarrassment polishing the shiny bar, Miss Levering clutched the tray to steady it, and with the other hand she pulled the pillow higher. One had to sit bolt upright, it seemed, and give this matter one's entire attention. 'I don't want to talk to your cousin about your affairs. We are old friends, Wark. Tell me yourself.' She forced her eyes to meet her mistress's. 'He told my cousin: "Just you find me a good housekeeper," he said, "and if I like her," he said, "she won't be my housekeeper long."' 'Wark! _You!_ You aren't thinking of marrying?' 'If he's what my cousin says----' 'A man you've never seen? Oh, my _dear_ Wark! Well, I shall hope and pray he won't think your housekeeping good enough.' 'He will! From what my cousin says, he's had a run of worthless huzzies. I don't expect he'll find much fault with _my_ housekeeping after what he's been through.' Vida looked wondering at the triumphant face of the woman. 'And so you're ready to leave me after all these years?' 'No, miss, I'm not to say "ready," but I think I'll have to go.' 'My poor old Wark'--the lady leaned over the tray--'I could almost think you are in love with this man you've only heard about!' 'No, miss, I'm not to say in love.' 'I believe you are! For what other reason would you have for leaving me?' The woman looked as if she could show cause had she a mind. But she said nothing. 'You know,' Vida pursued--'you know quite well you don't need to marry for a home.' 'No, 'm; I'm quite comfortable, of course, with you. But time goes on. I don't get younger.' 'None of us do that, Wark.' 'That's just the trouble, miss. It ain't only _me_.' Vida looked at her, more perplexed than ever by the curious regard in the hard-featured countenance. For there was something very like dumb reproach in Wark's face. 'Still,' said Miss Levering, 'you know, even if none of us do get younger, we are not any of us (to judge by appearances) on the brink of the grave. Even if I should be smashed up in a motor accident--I know you're always expecting that--even if I were killed to-morrow, still you'd find I hadn't forgotten you, Wark.' 'It isn't that, miss. It isn't death I'm afraid of.'