“But where,” he asked, “are the roses?”

Clara laughed outright.

“You may be a great politician, Sir Leslie,” she declared, “but you are no gardener.  Roses don’t bloom out of doors in May—­not in these parts at any rate.”

“I understand,” he assented, humbly.  “This is where the roses will be.”

She nodded.

“That wall, you see,” she explained, “keeps off the north winds, and the chestnut grove the east.  There is sun here all the day long.  You should come to Blakely in two months’ time, Sir Leslie.  Everything is so different then.”

He sighed.

“You forget, my dear child,” he murmured, “that you are speaking to a slave.”

“A slave!” she repeated.  “How absurd!  You are a Cabinet Minister, are you not, Sir Leslie?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“I was once,” he answered, “until an ungrateful country grew weary of the monotony of perfect government and installed our opponents in our places.  Just now we are in opposition.”

“In opposition,” she repeated, a little vaguely.

“Meaning,” he explained, “that we get all the fun, no responsibility, and, alas, no pay.”

“How fascinating,” she exclaimed.  “Do sit down here, and tell me all about it.  But I forgot.  You are not used to sitting down out of doors.  Perhaps you will catch cold.”

Sir Leslie smiled.

“I am inclined to run the risk,” he said gravely, “if you will share it.  Seriously, though, these rustic seats are rather a delusion, aren’t they, from the point of view of comfort?”

“There shall be cushions,” she declared, “for the next time you come.”

He sighed.

“Ah, the next time!  I dare not look forward to it.  So you are interested in politics, Miss Mannering?”

“Well, I believe I am,” she answered, a little doubtfully.  “To tell you the truth, Sir Leslie, I am shockingly ignorant.  You must live in London to be a politician, mustn’t you?”

“It is necessary,” he assented, “to spend some part of your time there, if you want to come into touch with the real thing.”

“Then I am very interested in politics,” she declared.  “Please go on.”

He shook his head.

“I would rather you talked to me about the roses.  You should ask your uncle to tell you all about politics.  He knows far more than I do.”

“More than you!  But you have been a Cabinet Minister!” she exclaimed.

“So was your uncle once,” he answered.  “So he could be again whenever he chose.”

She looked at him incredulously.

“You don’t really mean that, Sir Leslie?”

“Indeed I do!” he asserted.  “There was never a man within my recollection or knowledge who in so short a time made for himself a position so brilliant as your uncle.  There is no man to-day whose written word carries so much weight with the people.”

She sighed a little doubtfully.