"Partly." She hesitated, and he fancied that a little fine flush crept
along under the transparent skin. "I don't believe I remembered all you
said about them."
"Never mind!" He was magnanimous and suddenly cheerful. "I'll go over
them again to-morrow.... And I'd like you to see the place where they
are to be put." He was speaking slowly. "I think you might help me--if
it isn't too much trouble----"
She looked at him questioningly.
"My rose garden, I mean," said Medfield.
"Oh--!" The little fine flush swept up again.
He watched it with satisfaction.
"Julian has never taken much interest in the garden," said Medfield. "He
doesn't know one rose from another."
"No--?" She was busy with the glass on the stand.
"But women have a kind of instinct about such things." He was impersonal
and gallant; and the little shadow of disturbance left her face.
She moved about, making him comfortable.
"I wish you would ask my son to come here," said Medfield.
The young man came--with the catalogue in his hand. His face was open
and cheerful.
"How far have you got?" asked Medfield.
"I don't understand all your hieroglyphics," replied the young man,
seating himself on the edge of the bed. "This, for instance!" He held
out the book, pointing to a brilliantly colored specimen with little
pencilled dots on the margin.
Medfield glanced at it. "That means, 'Try again,'" he said.
"Oh--!" He made a memorandum on the margin, smiling a little as he did
it.
"Munson never wants to try things twice," said his father. "You'll have
to watch him, or he'll leave that out, now." He nodded to the
brilliant-pictured rose.
The boy's eye dwelt on it. "Looks worth trying for--several times," he
said softly.
"It is," replied his father. "It's hardy and fragrant and prolific--I am
going to have Miss Canfield go out home--to see the garden," he added
irrelevantly.
The young man stood up. He looked at his father, a little bewildered,
and then toward the door of the next room, where a white figure was
flitting about at work.
"I want her to see the garden," went on Medfield. "She has excellent
taste--and common sense. She can tell me what Munson's up to--this is
just the season he needs watching. No telling what he'll do!"
"I see!" The young man turned over the pages of the Rotterdam catalogue
slowly. He was absorbed in them.
"She's going to-morrow afternoon," said Medfield.
"Alone?"
"I suppose she'll go alone, yes--unless you want to spare time to take
her," said Medfield carelessly.
"I shall be very glad to take her, sir!"
"Very well." Medfield was indifferent. "You can arrange it between
you--four o'clock is a good time to be there," he added. "The light is
very good about four." He lay silent for a few minutes. It was growing
dark in the room.
"You might have them serve tea for you in the pergola," he said quietly.
Julian started. He had thought his father was asleep. He came over to
the bed.
"I'll see that she has a pleasant afternoon, sir." He stood looking down
at his father, his hands in his pockets.
"She's been very good to me--taken good care of me, you know," replied
Medfield.
"I understand," said Julian. "I'll do everything I can to make it
pleasant for her." He looked at his father--and opened his lips to say
something and turned away.
Miss Canfield had come in and touched the electric light, and it flooded
softly into the room.