“Ah, here it is!” cried his hostess as, rounding an angle of the house, they came upon the rose garden. “It is supposed to be the best rose garden in the country.” “Enchanting,” said Lord Paramour. “Enchanting, considering the gardeners do no work in it in the mornings.” “Oh, there’s Niblick, the agent!” cried Mrs. Lyon-West. “I _must_ speak to him for a moment. Do excuse me a moment, Lord Paramour. I will be back in _one_ moment.” Lord Paramour, of course, excused her; and very pleasantly whiled away twenty minutes with a cigarette in the rose garden. He paced about.... He saw the roses.... He saw a rose in particular, a white one.... IV The day passed in elegant conversation, as is the way with the landed gentry all the world over. Lord Paramour and Miss Lyon-West, beautiful in vermilion _organdie_, went for a walk in the afternoon; but on their return Mrs. Lyon-West observed on her daughter’s cheeks none of those signs of pretty confusion which denote a happy consummation; they were still the pale cheeks of a young lady of fashion; they were unmantled. Now it has frequently been said of Mrs. Lyon-West that she is indiscreet; but never that she is not brave. That night, when the gentlemen had joined the ladies, and Mrs. Custard had retired, saying she had to go to Paris early in the morning as she was very short of long gloves, Mrs. Lyon-West addressed herself to Lord Paramour brightly: “I hope,” she said, “that you enjoyed your walk in the rose garden?” “Enchanting!” said Lord Paramour. “Enchanting.” “I’m _so_ glad you liked it,” breathed Mrs. Lyon-West; and she looked at him steadfastly, the brave woman. “Well, Lord Paramour?” “Ah,” said Lord Paramour thoughtfully. She created a diversion by requiring a light for her cigarette, which Mr. Soda, with his well-known _galanterie_, instantly supplied. “The only thing I’m not sure about,” whispered Lord Paramour, “is whether I like her nose. Sorry, I’m sure.” XIII: THE LOQUACIOUS LADY OF LANSDOWNE PASSAGE