The stall was soon cleared, and tea tickets sold well--sixpence a head for the affluent in the vicarage dining-room, twopence for the more humble out in the garden at a long trestle table in charge of the schoolmaster's wife. It was not until most of the throng had departed that Coventry found a chance of speaking with Rafella alone. He ignored the timid remarks of his sister concerning the time, her fears that "mother might feel fatigued or take cold if they remained too late"; and he calmly requested Miss Forte to show him the kitchen garden. "There is not much to see, I'm afraid," Rafella said shyly, yet willing enough to take him. "The very sight of an English kitchen garden is refreshing to anyone from India," he informed her; and they wandered off together, leaving Mr. Forte to entertain Mrs. Coventry and her daughter and one or two lingering visitors in the faded, old-fashioned drawing-room. Truly there was little to see, beyond cabbages and gooseberry bushes, and the cherished potato patch, in the kitchen garden; the box borders had grown high and thick, and sadly needed trimming. There was an empty greenhouse, frequented by toads, and in one corner stood a shaky summer-house, suggestive of earwigs and spiders, dust and cobwebs. But to Coventry it was a garden of glamour and dreams. For him a delicious enchantment hung in the air, an infinite pleasure pervaded his being; he wondered how long it must be before he might dare to proclaim his passion, before he might hold this dear girl in his arms as his promised wife. "How would you like to go to India?" he asked her, dallying with the prospect of taking her there, visualising her bright presence in his bungalow. "India! Oh, I don't know," she said, surprised. "I have never thought of going anywhere." "But--but you will marry some day," he suggested tentatively, "and then you will have to go away." She blushed and laughed a little nervously. "Oh, that is not at all likely; and even if it were, how could I leave my father? He has become so dependent on me since my darling mother's death." His spirits sank. He had forgotten all about her father, and the filial sense of duty that would, of course, prevail with such a dear, good girl. He resigned himself to the prospect of struggle, opposition; nevertheless, he meant to win, though in the end the marriage might have to be delayed for a reasonable period. "But your father would never stand in the way of your happiness, surely?" he argued. "I shouldn't be happy," she maintained, "if I thought I was behaving selfishly." "Of course, to a certain extent you are right," he agreed; "but, after all, there are limits to unselfishness. Every woman has a just claim to her own existence." (In the case of his sister this view had not occurred to him.) "Do you think so?" she asked doubtfully, in deference to his superior masculine wisdom.