Theodore did not press the point, and his friend kept his word, and left by the first train on Monday morning, after having been intolerably stupid on Sunday evening, according to the sisters, who were disposed to think themselves especially ill-used by Mr. Ramsay’s obvious infatuation for Lady Carmichael. “I was beginning to respect Juanita for her conduct in the difficult position of a young widow,” said Sophia; “but I begin to fear that she is no better than the rest of them, and that her leaving off crape upon her last gowns is a sign that she means to marry again before the second year of her widowhood is over.” * * * * * Lady Cheriton’s roses were in danger from a failure of the water in that old-fashioned well which had hitherto supplied the flower-gardens. There had been an unusually long spell of dry weather since the beginning of July, and the gardeners were in despair. When Theodore went over to the Chase with his portmanteau, in accordance with an engagement made the previous week, he found that Lord Cheriton had that morning given an order for the sinking of the old well from twenty to thirty feet deeper. “There is plenty of water, my lord,” said the head gardener, “if we only go deep enough for it.” “Very well, Mackenzie, go as deep as you like, so long as you don’t go below the water-bearing strata. You had better put on plenty of hands. Her ladyship is uneasy about her roses, seeing how you have been stinting them lately.” “It has been hard work, my lord, to do our duty by the roses, and keep the lawns in decent order. The ground would be as hard as iron if we didn’t use a good deal of water for the grass.” “Get to work, Mackenzie, and don’t waste time in talking about it. Drive over to Gadby’s, and tell him to send some good men.” This conversation took place upon the terrace directly after Theodore’s arrival; and when the gardener had gone off to the stables to get the dog-cart-of-all-work, Lord Cheriton and his cousin walked in the direction of the well. The well was in one of the kitchen-gardens, quite the oldest bit of garden ground at Cheriton, a square garden of about two acres, shut in with high crumbling old red-brick walls, upon which grew blue gages and William pears, egg-plums and apricots, attaining more or less to perfection as the aspect favoured them. It was a pleasant garden to dream in upon a summer afternoon, for there was an air of superabundant growth that was almost tropical in the century-old espaliers, albeit they had long ceased to produce meritorious fruit, and in the sprawling leaves and yellow blossoms of the vegetable marrows which seemed to be grown for no purpose except to produce champion gourds or pumpkins, to be ultimately hung up as ornaments in the gardener’s cottage, or to rot in a corner of the greenhouse. There is always one old greenhouse in such a garden given over to preserving spiders and accumulating rubbish.