Obvious from the quick lifting of the eyes that the guest was on the point of welcoming the proposal, had Filey not swallowed his belated cup of tea with surprising quickness after saying, 'What's a yellow garden?' in the unmistakable tone of one bent upon enlarging his experience. Lady John, with all her antennae out, lost no time in saying to Vida-- 'Perhaps you're a little tired. Hermione, you show Mr. Filey the garden. And maybe, Lord Borrodaile would like to see it, too.' Although the last-named failed to share the enthusiasm expected in a gardener, he pulled his long, slackly-put-together figure out of the chair and joined the young people. When they were out of earshot, 'What's the matter?' asked Lady John. 'Matter?' 'Yes, what did poor Paul say to make you fall upon him like that?' 'I didn't "fall upon" him, did I?' 'Well, yes, I rather thought you did.' 'Oh, I suppose I--perhaps it did jar on me, just a little, to hear a cocksure boy----' 'He's not a boy. Paul is over thirty.' 'I was thinking of Dick Farnborough, too--talking about women like that, before women.' 'Oh, all they meant was----' 'Yes, I know. Of course we _all_ know they aren't accustomed to treating our sex in general with overmuch respect when there are only men present--but--do you think it's quite decent that they should be so free with their contempt of women before us?' 'But, my dear Vida! _That_ sort of woman! Haven't they deserved it?' 'That's just what nobody seems to know. I've sat and listened to conversations like the one at tea for a week now, and I've said as much against those women as anybody. Only to-day, somehow, when I heard that boy--yes, I was conscious I didn't like it.' 'You're behaving exactly as Dr. Johnson did about Garrick. You won't allow any one to abuse those women but yourself.' Lady John cleared the whole trivial business away with a laugh. 'Now, be nice to Paul. He's dying to talk to you about his book. Let us go and join them in the garden. See if you can stand before my yellow blaze and not feel melted.' The elder woman and the younger went down the terrace through a little copse to her ladyship's own area of experimentation. A gate of old Florentine scrolled iron opened suddenly upon a blaze of yellow in all the shades from the orange velvet of the wallflower through the shaded saffron of azalias and a dozen tints of tulip to the palest primrose and jonquil. The others were walking round the enclosing grass paths that served as broad green border, and Filey, who had been in all sorts of queer places, said the yellow garden made him think of a Mexican serape--'one of those silk scarves, you know--native weaving made out of the pineapple fibre.' But Vida only said, 'Yes. It's a good scheme of colour.'