I had no notion that the peasants were so artistic--though of course in the past--" "Not old things--new things," interrupted Mrs.Flushing curtly.

"That is, if he takes my advice." The Ambroses had not lived for many years in London without knowing something of a good many people, by name at least, and Helen remembered hearing of the Flushings.

Mr.Flushing was a man who kept an old furniture shop; he had always said he would not marry because most women have red cheeks, and would not take a house because most houses have narrow staircases, and would not eat meat because most animals bleed when they are killed; and then he had married an eccentric aristocratic lady, who certainly was not pale, who looked as if she ate meat, who had forced him to do all the things he most disliked--and this then was the lady.

Helen looked at her with interest.

They had moved out into the garden, where the tea was laid under a tree, and Mrs.Flushing was helping herself to cherry jam.