Our hostess had taken us over to "Sheltered End," the pleasant country
home of Mrs. Willoughby Brock, to play tennis. As however there was
only one court and quite a number of young and middle-aged people were
standing near it with racquets in their hands and an expression
on their faces in which frustration and anticipation fought for
supremacy, it followed that other beguilements had to be found. My own
fate was to fall into the hands of Mrs. Brock, whose greatest delight
on earth seems to be to have a stranger to whom she can display the
beauties of her abode and enlarge upon the unusual qualities of her
personality. She showed and told me all. We explored the estate from
the dog-kennel to the loggia for sleeping out "under the stars;" from
the pergola to the library; from the sundial to the telephone, "the
only one for miles;" and as we walked between the purple and mauve
Michaelmas daisies in her long herbaceous borders, with Red Admiral
butterflies among the myriad little clean blossoms, she said how odd
it was that some people have the gift of attracting friends and others
not; and what a strange thing it is that where one person has to
toil to make a circle others are automatically surrounded by nice
creatures; and asked me if I had any views as to the reason, but did
not pause for the reply.
It was a warm mellow day--almost the first of summer, according to
one's senses, although nearly the last, according to the calendar--and
Mrs. Brock was so happy to be in a monologue that I could enjoy
the garden almost without interruption. For a two and a half years'
existence it certainly was a triumph. Here and there a reddening apple
shone. The hollyhocks must have been ten feet high.
"Ah! here comes the dear Vicar," said Mrs. Brock suddenly, and, rising
up from a rose which I was inhaling (and I wish that people would grow
roses, as they used to do years ago, nose-high), I saw a black figure
approaching.
"He is such a charming man," Mrs. Brock continued, "and devoted to me."
"Good afternoon," said the Vicar. "How exquisite those delphiniums
are!" he added after introductions were complete; "such a delicate
blue! I should not have intruded had I known you had a party"--he
waved his hand towards the single tennis-court, around which the
wistful racquet-bearers were now (as it seemed) some thousands strong,
"but it is always a pleasure"--he turned to me--"to be able to walk
in this paradise on a fine day and appreciate its colour and its
fragrance. I find Mrs. Brock so valuable a parochial counsellor too."
"I think," I said, not in the least unwilling to be tactful, "I will
see what the rest of our party are doing."
"Oh, no," said the Vicar; "please don't let me drive you away. As a
matter of fact, since there are so many here I won't stay myself. But
I wonder," he addressed Mrs. Brock, "as I am here, if I might use your
telephone for a moment?"
"Of course," said she.
"Thank you so much," he replied; "yes, I know where it is," and with
a genial and courtly salutation he moved off in the direction of the
house.
"Such a true neighbour!" said Mrs. Brock. "Ah! and here is another,"
she went on. And along the same path, where the Michaelmas daisies
were thickest, I saw a massive woman in white, like a ship in full
sail, bearing down upon us, defending her head from the gentle
September sun with a red parasol. "This," Mrs. Brock hurriedly
informed me, "is Lady Cranstone, who lives in the house with the green
shutters at the end of the village. Such a dear person! She's always
in and out. The widow of the famous scientist, you know."