"
"Precisely," said Lady Plowden. "And do tell us,
Mr. Thorpe"--she turned toward where he sat at her right
and beamed at him over her spectacles, with the air of
having been wearied with a conversation in which he bore no
part--"is it really true that social discontent is becoming
more marked in America, even, than it is with us in England?"
"I'm not an American, you know," he reminded her.
"I only know one or two sections of the country--and
those only as a stranger. You should ask Miss Madden."
"Me?" said Celia. "Oh, I haven't come up for my
examinations yet. I'm like Balder--I'm preparing."
"What I should like Mr. Thorpe to tell us,"
suggested Lady Cressage, mildly, "is about the flowers
in the tropics--in Java, for example, or some
of the West Indies. One hears such marvelous tales about them."
"Speaking of flowers," Thorpe suddenly decided to mention the fact;
"I met out in one of the greenhouses here this morning,
an old acquaintance of mine, the gardener, Gafferson.
The last time I saw him, he was running the worst hotel
in the world in the worst country in the world--
out in British Honduras."
"But he's a wonderful gardener," said Lady Cressage.
"He's a magician; he can do what he likes with plants.
It's rather a hobby of mine--or used to be--and I never saw
his equal.
Pages:
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131