Riversedge snipped vigorously at the nearest rose bush,
coming into bloom.
"What was on the paper?" she asked.
"Just the words in pencil, 'I love you, Florrie,' and then
read, 'Meet me in the garden.html">garden by the yew.html">yew.html">yew.'"
"There IS a yew tree at the bottom of the garden," admitted Mrs.
roof!" said Mrs. Riversedge indignantly.
"I wonder why it is that scandal seems so much worse under a
superior delicacy of the cat tribe that it conducts most of its
things about Mr. Brope that I've/ve.html">ve never been able to account for.
editor of the CATHEDRAL MONTHLY, and I know.html">know that his people are
afford a flat somewhere in Westminster, and he goes abroad to
well, and gives quite nice luncheon-parties in the season. You
ecclesiastical architecture that his field is rather restricted.
edifices in famous fox-hunting centres, but it wasn't considered
how he can support himself in his present style merely by what he
suggested Clovis.
"How could you sell a transept?" said Mrs. Riversedge; "such a
Troyle, "he is certainly not going to fill in his leisure moments
at once. But I don't quite know what we ought to do."
"You might put a barbed wire entanglement round the yew tree as a
improved by flippancy," said Mrs. Riversedge; "a good maid is a
admitted Mrs. Troyle; "she understands my hair.html">hair. I've long ago
hair as I regard husbands: as long as one is seen together in
the luncheon gong."
Septimus Brope and Clovis had the smoking-room to themselves after
quietly.
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