"Certainly," said Lord Emsworth gratefully. "Certainly,
certainly, certainly! By all means."

The door closed behind Mr. Peters. Lord Emsworth was alone. For
some moments he stood where he had been left, a figure with small
signs of alertness about it. But Mr. Peters did not return
immediately. The booming of his voice came faintly from some
distant region. Lord Emsworth strolled to the window and looked
out.

The sun still shone brightly on the quiet street. Across the road
were trees. Lord Emsworth was fond of trees; he looked at these
approvingly. Then round the corner came a vagrom man, wheeling
flowers in a barrow.

Flowers! Lord Emsworth's mind shot back to Blandings like a
homing pigeon. Flowers! Had he or had he not given Head Gardener
Thorne adequate instructions as to what to do with those
hydrangeas? Assuming that he had not, was Thorne to be depended
on to do the right thing by them by the light of his own
intelligence? Lord Emsworth began to brood on Head Gardener
Thorne.

He was aware of some curious little object in his hand. He
accorded it a momentary inspection. It had no message for him.
It was probably something; but he could not remember what. He put
it in his pocket and returned to his meditations.

* * *