"On every other point she was unassuming almost to non-entity. She was
weak-minded to the verge of mental palsy. She was more benevolent in
deed, and more wandering in conversation, than any one I have met with
since. That is, in ordinary life. In the greenhouse or garden (with
which she and the head-gardener alone had any real acquaintance) her
accurate and profound knowledge would put to shame many professed
garden botanists I have met with since. From her I learnt what little
I know of the science of horticulture, and with her I spent many happy
hours over the fine botanical works in the manor library, which she
alone ever opened.

"And so I became reconciled to things as they were, though to this day
I connect with that shade of _feuille-morte_ satin a disappointment
not to be forgotten."

* * * * *

"It is a dull story, is it not, Ida?" said the little old lady,
pausing here. She had not told it in precisely these words, but this
was the sum and substance of it.

Ida nodded. Not that she had thought the story dull, so far as she had
heard it, and whilst she was awake; but she had fallen asleep, and so
she nodded.

Mrs. Overtheway looked back at the fire, to which, indeed, she had
been talking for some time past.

"A child's story?" she thought. "A tale of the blind, wilful folly of