“Do tell me what you have heard,” said Sally serenely, preparing to make her tea, and sending Max for the hot water.  “The really important things, like the coming up of the sweet peas, or unimportant ones, like the strange way the weeds have of appearing faster than the seeds?”

From the nonchalance of this question it will be seen that Sally herself thought nothing of the fact that items concerning her garden should have seemed of sufficient importance to go into the letters of a brother whose time was ordinarily occupied with affairs much more momentous.  The garden was of overwhelming importance to Sally, why shouldn’t it be interesting to everybody?  But there were two people in the company besides his sister who glanced rather quickly at Donald Ferry.  He, however, seemed to think there could be no reason for anybody’s minding what he might choose to write about.

“Here were two girls,” he said, from his position in the doorway, where he stood leaning against the lintel, watching the process of tea making, “writing long descriptions of all sorts of rural beauties they had discovered in their travels about Germany and France—­given them as a reward for long study by a discerning aunt.  They professed special interest in gardens.  Should I refrain from telling them about the only one in sight, even though it couldn’t be said to have reached the show stage?”

“You certainly didn’t refrain,” said Miss Constance Carew, smiling at him from her seat near Sally.  “We were told that if we would spend the summer here, one of our chief joys would be the old, box-bordered garden.”

“So long as it helped to bring you, I don’t regret it,” said he, returning the smile in a way which made those who observed decide at once that these other two were old and familiar friends.  Miss Carew, though she was not precisely a pretty girl, was really beautiful when she smiled, and had, at all times, an undeniable charm about her which came from one knew not just what.  She was rather tall but very graceful, and her manner had about it an indefinable something which made one like to watch her, admiring each move she made as something done just a little differently from the way other people did it.

Sally poured her tea, and the three young men handed about the cups.  Everybody fell to talking at once.  Max, who had had an approving eye on Miss Janet Ferry from the first, and had decided that he should much prefer her conversation to that of her more impressive friend, drew up a chair beside her when his duties were over, and presently proved her to be as blithely entertaining as her appearance had promised.  She was a small person in stature, but her personality was one not to be ignored.  She looked like a miniature edition of her brother, heavy braids of the same red-brown hair wound about her small head, the same brilliant, good-humoured hazel eyes looking out of a prepossessing young face, and the same seemingly quick appreciation of everything other people said and did making her a delightful person to talk with.  Max, as he supplied her with bread-and-butter, plied her with questions about her life in Germany, and listened to her vivacious stories of her experiences, thinking that it was a long time since he had met a girl he liked so well.