52 The Real Charlotte. 



She might have been partially consoled had she known 

 that on a June morning not long after the latest of these 

 repulses, her feelings were fully shared by the person whom, 

 for the last two Sundays, she had looked at in the Dysart 

 pew with a respectful dislike that implied the highest com- 

 pliment in her power. Miss Evelyn Hope - Drummond 

 stood at the bow-window of the Bruff drawing-room and 

 looked out over the gravelled terrace, across the flower- 

 garden and the sunk fence, to the clump of horse chestnuts 

 by the lake-side. Beyond these the cattle were standing 

 knee-deep in the water, and on the flat margin a pair of 

 legs in white flannel trousers was all that the guest, whom 

 his mother delighted to honour, could see of Christopher 

 Dysart. The remainder of him wrestled beneath a black 

 velvet pall with the helplessly wilful legs of his camera, and 

 all his mind, as Miss Hope-Drummond well knew, was con- 

 centrated upon cows. Her first visit to Ireland was proving 

 less amusing than she had expected, she thought, and as 

 she watched Christopher she wished fervently that she had 

 not off'ered to carry any of his horrid things across the park 

 for him. In the flower-garden below the terrace she could 

 see Lady Dysart and Pamela in deep consultation over an 

 infirm rose-tree ; a wheelbarrow full of pans of seedlings 

 sufficiently indicated what their occupation would be for 

 the rest of the morning, and she felt it was of a piece with 

 the absurdities of Irish life that the ladies of the house 

 should enjoy doing the gardener's work for him. The 

 strong scent of heated Gloire de Dijon roses came through 

 the window, and suggested to her how well one of them 

 would suit with her fawn-coloured Redfern gown, and she 

 leaned out to pick a beautiful bud that was swaying in the 

 sun just within reach. 



" Ha — a — ah ! I see ye, missy ! Stop picking my 

 flowers ! Push, James Canavan, you devil, you ! Push ! " 



A bath-chair, occupied by an old man in a tall hat, and 

 pushed by a man also in a tall hat, had suddenly turned the 

 corner of the house, and Miss Hope-Drummond drew back 

 precipitately to avoid the uplifted walking-stick of Sir Ben- 

 jamin Dysart. 



*' Oh, fie, for shame, Sir Benjamin ! " exclaimed the man 

 who had been addressed as James Canavan. " Pray, cull 



