Mr. Braefield found the gardener watering a flower-border, conferred
with him about the heart's-ease, and then joined Kenelm, who had
halted a few yards beyond the garden-gate.

"A pretty little place that," said Mr. Braefield, with a sort of
lordly compassion, as became the owner of Braefieldville. "What I
call quaint."

"Yes, quaint," echoed Kenelm, abstractedly.

"It is always the case with houses enlarged by degrees. I have heard
my poor mother say that when Melville or Mrs. Cameron first bought it,
it was little better than a mere labourer's cottage, with a field
attached to it. And two or three years afterwards a room or so more
was built, and a bit of the field taken in for a garden; and then by
degrees the whole part now inhabited by the family was built, leaving
only the old cottage as a scullery and washhouse; and the whole field
was turned into the garden, as you see. But whether it was Melville's
money or the aunt's that did it, I don't know. More likely the
aunt's. I don't see what interest Melville has in the place: he does
not go there often, I fancy; it is not his home."

"Mr. Melville, it seems, is a painter, and, from what I heard you say,
a successful one."

"I fancy he had little success before this year. But surely you saw
his pictures at the Exhibition?"

"I am ashamed to say I have not been to the Exhibition."