Duncombe returned to the table, and laid the picture down with a reluctance which he could scarcely conceal.
"Very nice photograph," he remarked. "Taken locally?"
"I took it myself," Andrew answered. "I used to be rather great at that sort of thing before--before my eyes went dicky."
Duncombe resumed his seat. He helped himself to another glass of wine.
"I presume," he said, "from the fact that you call yourself their nearest friend, that the young lady is not engaged?"
"No," Andrew answered slowly. "She is not engaged."
Something a little different in his voice caught his friend's attention. Duncombe eyed him keenly. He was conscious of a sense of apprehension. He leaned over the table.
"Do you mean, Andrew----?" he asked hoarsely. "Do you mean----?"
"Yes, I mean that," his friend answered quietly. "Nice sort of old fool, am I not? I'm twelve years older than she is, I'm only moderately well off and less than moderately good-looking. But after all I'm only human, and I've seen her grow up from a fresh, charming child into one of God's wonderful women. Even a gardener, you know, George, loves the roses he has planted and watched over. I've taught her a little and helped her a little, and I've watched her cross the borderland."
"I think," he said, "that she was beginning to guess. Three months ago I should have spoken--but my trouble came. I didn't mean to tell you this, but perhaps it is as well that you should know. You can understand now what I am suffering. To think of her there alone almost maddens me."
"Come out into the garden, Andrew," he said. "I feel stifled here."
His host rose and took Duncombe's arm. They passed out through the French window on to the gravel path which circled the cedar-shaded lawn. A shower had fallen barely an hour since, and the air was full of fresh delicate fragrance. Birds were singing in the dripping trees, blackbirds were busy in the grass. The perfume from the wet lilac shrubs was a very dream of sweetness. Andrew pointed across a park which sloped down to the garden boundary.
"Up there, amongst the elm trees, George," he said, "can you see a gleam of white? That is the Hall, just to the left of the rookery."
"Guy and she walked down so often after dinner," he said quietly. "I have stood here and watched them. Sometimes she came alone. What a long time ago that seems!"