She was deft, alert and quick. He told her how his money was invested, and she nodded. On paper he showed her the extent of his land, pointed out the farms, told her of the tenants and what rent they paid, the fields and what crops they bore, he talked of woods and forestry, and she listened, making no comments, biding her time. "You are wonderful, Theresa," he said. "You understand everything." "Don't say that," she said gravely. "Why shouldn't I? Will you take me to see all these places and these people, especially the people? I want to talk to them." He hesitated. "You will be discreet, won't you, darling? Don't misunderstand me----" She waved him into silence. "Do you think I don't know how to talk to people?" She straightened her back. "I was Mr. Smith's secretary for two years." It puzzled him that she should still think this her greatest claim to honour. CHAPTER XXV That was the beginning of their happy time. Morton taught Theresa to ride and, mounted on a steady grey animal while he bestrode one more mettlesome, she went with him into every corner of his land, and began to understand his pride of possession. He was a good landlord, and there was nothing he did not oversee, little of which she could complain, and she said so frankly; but she startled him with a question as they rode out one morning, waving farewell to a Mrs. Morton who was beginning to find herself neglected by young people unnaturally busy over cottages and plans. "Basil, were you going to give me a wedding present?" "Of course." "Then may I choose it?" "I wanted to give you a surprise." "No, no, let me choose." "Tell me, then." "I don't want diamonds, or pearls, or gold. I want lead--I think it's lead. Perhaps it's iron. Yes, I think it is. I want you to take water into those old cottages on the peppermint land." "Where do you mean, dear?" "I mean the land Mrs. Morton bought, not the hereditary domain! Wasn't it bought with peppermint, and sticks of bright pink rock, and yards of liquorice? I like to think of ragged little children putting their dirty faces against dirty window panes, and gloating over masses of your grandfather's sweets. Don't you?" "I'm afraid I have often wished he had made money, if he had to make it, in a different way." "That's because you have more false pride than imagination. Why, he has made a fairy feast for children! Think of the dark winter streets, wet, perhaps, and the lamps just lighted and bright reflections in the pavements, and children staring at pyramids of sweetness. It's lovely--magical, like being a perpetual Father Christmas. So when I call it the peppermint land, I do not sneer, and you'll lay on the water, won't you?" "There's a well quite near, darling." "It's across a field." "A small field." "Quite big enough." "Theresa, you know I treat my tenants like human beings, but you want to pamper them."