"Figment of the imagination, ma'am," said Mr. Polly. "Put in to fill up picture. No face to figure as yet. Still, that's how it will be, I can assure you. I think I must have a bit of garden. Johnson's the man for a garden of course," he said, going off at a tangent, "but I don't mean a fierce sort of garden. Earnest industry. Anxious moments. Fervous digging. Shan't go in for that sort of garden, ma'am. No! Too much backache for me. My garden will be just a patch of 'sturtiums and sweet pea. Red brick yard, clothes' line. Trellis put up in odd time. Humorous wind vane. Creeper up the back of the house." "Virginia creeper?" asked Miriam. "Canary creeper," said Mr. Polly. "You _will_ '_ave_ it nice," said Miriam, desirously. "Rather," said Mr. Polly. "Ting-a-ling-a-ling. _Shop!_" He straightened himself up and then they all laughed. "Smart little shop," he said. "Counter. Desk. All complete. Umbrella stand. Carpet on the floor. Cat asleep on the counter. Ties and hose on a rail over the counter. All right." "I wonder you don't set about it right off," said Miriam. "Mean to get it exactly right, m'am," said Mr. Polly. "Have to have a tomcat," said Mr. Polly, and paused for an expectant moment. "Wouldn't do to open shop one morning, you know, and find the window full of kittens. Can't sell kittens...." When tea was over he was left alone with Minnie for a few minutes, and an odd intimation of an incident occurred that left Mr. Polly rather scared and shaken. A silence fell between them--an uneasy silence. He sat with his elbows on the table looking at her. All the way from Easewood to Stamton his erratic imagination had been running upon neat ways of proposing marriage. I don't know why it should have done, but it had. It was a kind of secret exercise that had not had any definite aim at the time, but which now recurred to him with extraordinary force. He couldn't think of anything in the world that wasn't the gambit to a proposal. It was almost irresistibly fascinating to think how immensely a few words from him would excite and revolutionise Minnie. She was sitting at the table with a workbasket among the tea things, mending a glove in order to avoid her share of clearing away. "I like cats," said Minnie after a thoughtful pause. "I'm always saying to mother, 'I wish we 'ad a cat.' But we couldn't '_ave_ a cat 'ere--not with no yard." "Never had a cat myself," said Mr. Polly. "No!" "I'm fond of them," said Minnie. "I like the look of them," said Mr. Polly. "Can't exactly call myself fond." "I expect I shall get one some day. When about you get your shop." "I shall have my shop all right before long," said Mr. Polly. "Trust me. Canary bird and all." She shook her head. "I shall get a cat first," she said. "You never mean anything you say." "Might get 'em together," said Mr. Polly, with his sense of a neat thing outrunning his discretion. "Why! 'ow d'you mean?" said Minnie, suddenly alert.