LITMIR.BIZ

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to suggest that the horse had been doctored by the dealer in New York. To tell me that I, who have been buying horses all my life, was fooled. The veterinary swears the animal is ruptured. I'm a citizen of Avalon County, though many people call me a summer resident; I've done business here and helped improve the neighbourhood for years. It will be my policy to employ home talent Avalon County lawyers, for instance. I may say, without indiscretion, that I intend from now on to take even a greater interest in public affairs. The trouble is in this country that men in my position do not feel their responsibilities.”

      “Public spirit is a rare virtue,” Austen remarked, seeing that he was expected to say something. “Avalon County appreciates the compliment—if I may be permitted to answer for it.”

      “I want to do the right thing,” said Mr. Crewe. “In fact, I have almost made up my mind to go to the Legislature this year. I know it would be a sacrifice of time, in a sense, and all that, but—” He paused, and looked at Austen.

      “The Legislature needs leavening.”

      “Precisely,” exclaimed Mr. Crewe, “and when I look around me and see the things crying to be done in this State, and no lawmaker with sense and foresight enough to propose them, it makes me sick. Now, for instance,” he continued, and rose with an evident attempt to assault the forestry shelves. But Austen rose too.

      “I'd like to go over that with you, Mr. Crewe,” said he, “but I have to be back in Ripton.”

      “How about my case?” his host demanded, with a return to his former abruptness.

      “What about it?” asked Austen.

      “Are you going to take it?”

      “Struggling lawyers don't refuse business.”

      “Well,” said Mr. Crewe, “that's sensible. But what are you going to charge?”

      “Now,” said Austen, with entire good humour, “when you get on that ground, you are dealing no longer with one voracious unit, but with a whole profession—a profession, you will allow me to add, which in dignity is second to none. In accordance with the practice of the best men in that profession, I will charge you what I believe is fair—not what I think you are able and willing to pay. Should you dispute the bill, I will not stoop to quarrel with you, but, try to live on bread and butter a while longer.”

      Mr. Crewe was silent for a moment. It would not be exact to say uncomfortable, for it is to be doubted whether he ever got so. But he felt dimly that the relations of patron and patronized were becoming somewhat jumbled.

      “All right,” said he, “I guess we can let it go at that. Hello! What the deuce are those women doing here again?”

      This irrelevant exclamation was caused by the sight through the open French window—of three ladies in the flower garden, two of whom were bending over the beds. The third, upon whose figure Austen's eyes were riveted, was seated on a stone bench set in a recess of pines, and looking off into the Yale of the Blue. With no great eagerness, but without apology to Austen, Mr. Crewe stepped out of the window and approached them; and as this was as good a way as any to his horse and buggy, Austen followed. One of the ladies straightened at their appearance, scrutinized them through the glasses she held in her hand, and Austen immediately recognized her as the irreproachable Mrs. Pomfret.

      “We didn't mean to disturb you, Humphrey,” she said. “We knew you would be engaged in business, but I told Alice as we drove by I could not resist stopping for one more look at your Canterbury bells. I knew you wouldn't mind, but you mustn't leave your—affairs—not for an instant.”

      The word “affairs” was accompanied by a brief inspection of Austen Vane.

      “That's all right,” answered Mr. Crewe; “it doesn't cost anything to look at flowers, that's what they're for. Cost something to put 'em in. I got that little feller Ridley to lay 'em out—I believe I told you. He's just beginning. Hello, Alice.”

      “I think he did it very well, Humphrey,” said Miss Pomfret.

      “Passably,” said Mr. Crewe. “I told him what I wanted and drew a rough sketch of the garden and the colour scheme.”

      “Then you did it, and not Mr. Ridley. I rather suspected it,” said Mrs. Pomfret; “you have such clear and practical ideas about things, Humphrey.”

      “It's simple enough,” said Mr. Crewe, deprecatingly, “after you've seen a few hundred gardens and get the general underlying principle.”

      “It's very clever,” Alice murmured.

      “Not at all. A little application will do wonders. A certain definite colour massed here, another definite colour there, and so forth.”

      Mr. Crewe spoke as though Alice's praise irritated him slightly. He waved his hand to indicate the scheme in general, and glanced at Victoria on the stone bench. From her (Austen thought) seemed to emanate a silent but mirthful criticism, although she continued to gaze persistently down the valley, apparently unaware of their voices. Mr. Crewe looked as if he would have liked to reach her, but the two ladies filled the narrow path, and Mrs. Pomfret put her fingers on his sleeve.

      “Humphrey, you must explain it to us. I am so interested in gardens I'm going to have one if Electrics increase their dividend.”

      Mr. Crewe began, with no great ardour, to descant on the theory of planting, and Austen resolved to remain pocketed and ignored no longer. He retraced his steps and made his way rapidly by another path towards Victoria, who turned her head at his approach, and rose. He acknowledged an inward agitation with the vision in his eye of the tall, white figure against the pines, clad with the art which, in mysterious simplicity, effaces itself.

      “I was wondering,” she said, as she gave him her hand, “how long it would be before you spoke to me.”

      “You gave me no chance,” said Austen, quickly.

      “Do you deserve one?” she asked.

      Before he could answer, Mr. Crewe's explanation of his theories had come lamely to a halt. Austen was aware of the renewed scrutiny of Mrs. Pomfret, and then Mr. Crewe, whom no social manacles could shackle, had broken past her and made his way to them. He continued to treat the ground on which Austen was standing as unoccupied.

      “Hello, Victoria,” he said, “you don't know anything about gardens, do you?”

      “I don't believe you do either,” was Victoria's surprising reply.

      Mr. Crewe laughed at this pleasantry.

      “How are you going to prove it?” he demanded.

      “By comparing what you've done with Freddie Ridley's original plan,” said Victoria.

      Mr. Crewe was nettled.

      “Ridley has a lot to learn,” he retorted. “He had no conception of what was appropriate here.”

      “Freddie was weak,” said Victoria, “but he needed the money. Don't you know Mr. Vane?”

      “Yes,” said Mr. Crewe, shortly, “I've been talking to him—on business.”

      “Oh,” said Victoria, “I had no means of knowing. Mrs. Pomfret, I want to introduce Mr. Vane, and Miss Pomfret, Mr. Vane.”

      Mrs. Pomfret, who had been hovering on the outskirts of this duel, inclined her head the fraction of an inch, but Alice put out her hand with her sweetest manner.

      “When did you arrive?” she asked.

      “Well, the fact is, I haven't arrived yet,” said Austen.

      “Not arrived” exclaimed Alice, with a puzzled glance into Victoria's laughing eyes.

      “Perhaps Humphrey will help you along,” Victoria suggested, turning to him. “He might be induced to give you his celebrated grievance about his horses.”

      “I

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