‘Such a delightful house--yes? And I do think you and dear Mrs. Hoope-Arkwright have been so tactful about it--altering nothing, as it were, and yet improving everything, and making it so comfortable. It was very different in the poor Restormels’ time. I can remember what it was like then.’ Mr. Hoope-Arkwright saw that she had not grasped her other neighbour’s identity, and as personal explanations are not easy unless one has the tact to shout them, so that their object may have no suspicion who is meant, he preferred to turn the conversation into other channels. ‘Are you fond of flowers, Lady Gundred?’ he asked. In such temperate dialogues Gundred particularly shone. She was especially valuable in London for her power of flowing endlessly and amiably on about matters which could never possibly interest or stimulate anybody, or arouse difficulties of any sort. She was felt to be a thoroughly safe guest. So Mr. Hoope-Arkwright’s question gave her a most favourable opportunity for the display of her favourite qualities, and she seized upon the topic with joy. ‘Oh yes,’ she answered; ‘I have always been devoted to flowers. Such a comfort they are--yes? Quiet friends, I always say. One could not live without them.’ ‘Roses, now--do you care particularly for roses?’ pursued Mr. Hoope-Arkwright. ‘Oh, the queen of flowers,’ she made haste to reply. ‘But, do you know, I can never quite care for a rose that has no scent. There is something unnatural about it--no? But these of yours are perfectly lovely, and how sweet! Do you find the soil good for them here?’ ‘Well, as to that I can hardly tell you. I leave such matters to my wife and the gardener. But they are fine fellows, as you say.’ ‘Quite like little pink cabbages--yes? Only so very, very beautiful, of course. How one loves a rose! And they go so well with the orchids too. So nice to be able to grow orchids.’ ‘Yes, they do run into money, orchids do. You would be astonished at the prices some of them fetch.’ Gundred thought this a vulgar ostentation, and assumed her mildly pious air. ‘And I dare say, after all, not half so beautiful as many a dear little flower of the hedgerows?’ she replied. ‘Money means so little--yes? I often feel that one’s greatest pleasures are those which cost us least. The lovely lights on the hills, the roseate hues of early dawn--these are the joys which no money can buy. How thankful one ought to be to Heaven for giving us all these healthy pleasures--yes?’ Neither Mr. Hoope-Arkwright nor Gundred herself had any exhaustive experience of early dawn and its roseate hues. But the sentiment was improving and laudable. The host, however, was inclined to be prosaic. ‘Well,’ he answered, ‘one need not sniff at money, either, Lady Gundred. Where would one be without it?’