her," said Mr. van der Luyden, complacency restored
to his brow. He sank into the chair, laid his hat and
gloves on the floor beside him in the old-fashioned
way, and went on: "She has a real gift for arranging
flowers. I had sent her a few carnations from Skuytercliff,
and I was astonished. Instead of massing them in big
bunches as our head-gardener does, she had scattered
them about loosely, here and there . . . I can't say how.
The Duke had told me: he said: `Go and see how
cleverly she's arranged her drawing-room.' And she
has. I should really like to take Louisa to see her, if the
neighbourhood were not so--unpleasant."

A dead silence greeted this unusual flow of words
from Mr. van der Luyden. Mrs. Archer drew her
embroidery out of the basket into which she had
nervously tumbled it, and Newland, leaning against the
chimney-place and twisting a humming-bird-feather
screen in his hand, saw Janey's gaping countenance lit
up by the coming of the second lamp.

"The fact is," Mr. van der Luyden continued, stroking
his long grey leg with a bloodless hand weighed
down by the Patroon's great signet-ring, "the fact is, I
dropped in to thank her for the very pretty note she
wrote me about my flowers; and also--but this is
between ourselves, of course--to give her a friendly warning
about allowing the Duke to carry her off to parties
with him. I don't know if you've heard--"