quite so; I am sure that you are right,” assented her visitor readily. “But in the meanwhile I do not see why the annoyance of your next-door neighbour should be permitted to go on.”
“Of course: I have not told you that, and I could not explain it to uncle,” she said. “I am anxious not to do anything to put him out because I have a hope—rather a faint one, certainly—that the man may be willing to take over this house.”
It would be incorrect to say that Carrados pricked up his ears—if that curious phenomenon has any physical manifestation—for the sympathetic expression of his face did not vary a fraction. But into his mind there came a gleam such as might inspire a patient digger who sees the first speck of gold that justifies his faith in an unlikely claim.
“Oh,” he said, quite conversationally, “is there a chance of that?”
“He undoubtedly did want it. It is very curious in a way. A few weeks ago, before we were really settled, he came one afternoon, saying he had heard that this house was to be let. Of course I told him that he was too late, that we had already taken it for three years.”
“You were the first tenants?”
“Yes. The house was scarcely ready when we signed the agreement. Then this Mr Johns, or Jones—I am not sure which he said—went on in a rather extraordinary way to persuade me to sublet it to him. He said that the house was dear and I could get plenty, more convenient, at less rent, and it was unhealthy, and the drains were bad, and that we should be pestered by tramps and it was just the sort of house that burglars picked on, only he had taken a sort of fancy to it and he would give me a fifty-pound premium for the term.”
“Did he explain the motive for this rather eccentric partiality?”
“I don’t imagine that he did. He repeated several times that he was a queer old fellow with his whims and fancies and that they often cost him dear.”
“I think we all know that sort of old fellow,” said Carrados. “It must have been rather entertaining for you, Mrs Bellmark.”
“Yes, I suppose it was,” she admitted. “The next thing we knew of him was that he had taken the other house as soon as it was finished.”
“Then he would scarcely require this?”
“I am afraid not.” It was obvious that the situation was not disposed of. “But he seems to have so little furniture there and to live so solitarily,” she explained, “that we have even wondered whether he might not be there merely as a sort of caretaker.”
“And you have never heard where he came from or who he is?”
“Only what the milkman told my servant—our chief source of local information, Mr Carrados. He declares that the man used to be the butler at a large house that stood here formerly, Fountain Court, and that his name is neither Johns nor Jones. But very likely it is all a mistake.”
“If not, he is certainly attached to the soil,” was her visitor’s rejoinder. “And, apropos of that, will you show me over your garden before I go, Mrs Bellmark?”
“With pleasure,” she assented, rising also. “I will ring now and then I can offer you tea when we have been round. That is, if you——?”
“Thank you, I do,” he replied. “And would you allow my man to go through into the garden—in case I require him?”
“Oh, certainly. You must tell me just what you want without thinking it necessary to ask permission, Mr Carrados,” she said, with a pretty air of protection. “Shall Amy take a message?”
He acquiesced and turned to the servant who had appeared in response to the bell.
“Will you go to the car and tell my man—Parkinson—that I require him here. Say that he can bring his book; he will understand.”
“Yes, sir.”
They stepped out through the French window and sauntered across the lawn. Before they had reached the other side Parkinson reported himself.
“You had better stay here,” said his master, indicating the sward generally. “Mrs Bellmark will allow you to bring out a chair from the drawing-room.”
“Thank you, sir; there is a rustic seat already provided,” replied Parkinson.
He sat down with his back to the houses and opened the book that he had brought. Let in among its pages was an ingeniously contrived mirror.
When their promenade again brought them near the rustic seat Carrados dropped a few steps behind.
“He is watching you from one of the upper rooms, sir,” fell from Parkinson’s lips as he sat there without raising his eyes from the page before him.
The blind man caught up to his hostess again.
“You intended this lawn for croquet?” he asked.
“No; not specially. It is too small, isn’t it?”
“Not necessarily. I think it is in about the proportion of four by five all right. Given that, size does not really matter for an unsophisticated game.”
To settle the point he began to pace the plot of ground, across and then lengthways. Next, apparently dissatisfied with this rough measurement, he applied himself to marking it off more exactly by means of his walking-stick. Elsie Bellmark was by no means dull but the action sprang so naturally from the conversation that it did not occur to her to look for any deeper motive.
“He has got a pair of field-glasses and is now at the window,” communicated Parkinson.
“I am going out of sight,” was the equally quiet response. “If he becomes more anxious tell me afterwards.”
“It is quite all right,” he reported, returning to Mrs Bellmark with the satisfaction of bringing agreeable news. “It should make a splendid little ground, but you may have to level up a few dips after the earth has set.”
A chance reference to the kitchen garden by the visitor took them to a more distant corner of the enclosure where the rear of Fountain Cottage cut off the view from the next house windows.
“We decided on this part for vegetables because it does not really belong to the garden proper,” she explained. “When they build farther on this side we shall have to give it up very soon. And it would be a pity if it was all in flowers.”
With the admirable spirit of the ordinary Englishwoman, she spoke of the future as if there was no cloud to obscure its prosperous course. She had frankly declared their position to her uncle’s best friend because in the circumstances it had seemed to be the simplest and most straightforward thing to do; beyond that, there was no need to whine about it.
“It is a large garden,” remarked Carrados. “And you really do all the work of it yourselves?”
“Yes; I think that is half the fun of a garden. Roy is out here early and late and he does all the hard work. But how did you know? Did uncle tell you?”
“No; you told me yourself.”
