“I shall love that garden,” she said. “But I shall feel unworthy.” “There are a hundred little things I want to tell you—about it.” Then all the others seemed to come into focus again, and with a quick mutual understanding—Mr. Brumley was certain of its mutuality—they said no more to one another. He was entirely satisfied he had said enough. He had conveyed just everything that was needed to excuse and explain and justify his presence in that company.... Upon a big table in the hall he noticed that a silk hat and an umbrella had appeared since their arrival. He glanced at Miss Sharsper but she was keenly occupied with the table legs. He began to breathe freely again when the partings were over and he could get back into the automobile. “Toot,” said the horn and he made a last grave salutation to the slender white figure on the steps. The great butler stood at the side of the entrance and a step or so below her, with the air of a man who has completed a difficult task. A small attentive valet hovered out of the shadows behind. §5 (A fragment of the conversation in Lady Beach-Mandarin’s returning automobile may be recorded in a parenthesis here. “But did you see Sir Isaac?” she cried, abruptly. “Sir Isaac?” defended the startled Mr. Brumley. “Where?” “He was dodging about in the garden all the time.” “Dodging about the garden!... I saw a sort of gardener——” “I’m sure I saw Him,” said Lady Beach-Mandarin. “Positive. He hid away in the mushroom shed. The one you found locked.” “But my _dear_ Lady Beach-Mandarin!” protested Mr. Brumley with the air of one who listens to preposterous suggestions. “What can make you think——?” “Oh I _know_ I saw him,” said Lady Beach-Mandarin. “I know. He seemed all over the place. Like a Boy Scout. Didn’t you see him too, Susan?” Miss Sharsper was roused from deep preoccupation. “What, dear?” she asked. “See Sir Isaac?” “Sir Isaac?” “Dodging about the garden when we went through it.” The novelist reflected. “I didn’t notice,” she said. “I was busy observing things.”) §6 Lady Beach-Mandarin’s car passed through the open gates and was swallowed up in the dusty stream of traffic down Putney Hill; the great butler withdrew, the little manservant vanished, Mrs. Sawbridge and her elder daughter had hovered and now receded from the back of the hall; Lady Harman remained standing thoughtfully in the large Bulwer-Lyttonesque doorway of her house. Her face expressed a vague expectation. She waited to be addressed from behind. Then she became aware of the figure of her husband standing before her. He had come out of the laurels in front. His pale face was livid with anger, his hair dishevelled, there was garden mould and greenness upon his knees and upon his extended hands. She was startled out of her quiet defensiveness. “Why, Isaac!” she cried. “Where have you been?” It enraged him further to be asked so obviously unnecessary a question. He forgot his knightly chivalry.