"Does anybody know Mr.Flanders ?" Mr.Durrant knew him; and therefore blushed slightly, and said, awkwardly, something about being sure--looking at Mr.Plumer and hitching the right leg of his trouser as he spoke.

Mr.Plumer got up and stood in front of the fireplace.

Mrs.Plumer laughed like a straightforward friendly fellow.

In short, anything more horrible than the scene, the setting, the prospect, even the May garden being afflicted with chill sterility and a cloud choosing that moment to cross the sun, cannot be imagined.

There was the garden, of course.