that they were not thistles. She met Miss Wilson at a garden-party, and instead of putting her nose in the air and talking about her fortnight in London, put her nose down and talked about the coming month at Brixham. They were, if not friends, French acquaintances, and determined to meet once a week and talk no English at all. The effect was that Marjory Wilson fell in love with Lucia, and if on a particular Wednesday they were not talking French at Fair View, it was because they were talking English at the Deanery. Similarly, Nellie Majendie, the daughter of the Colonel of the regiment, took Lucia to her musical bosom, and wondered how it were possible that Lucia had been in the town for a whole year without their making friends. Then again Lucia had sent to intimate to Helen Vereker that all she really cared about was flowers, the names of which, by the aid of an old gardening manual, she learned with extraordinary speed, and morning by morning Miss Vereker used to arrive with a small basket of plants, which had homes made for them in the flower-beds before the sun came on to them, or Miss Wilson arrived to talk French. On such occasions Aunt Cathie took her part, and stood by like a grenadier with a watering-pot in her hand, until Miss Vereker said, "Now, please, Miss Grimson, will you pour it freely and then stamp it down, and then pour on a little more, while Lucia and I put in this salvia. Lucia darling, you must plant that yourself. It is simply beautiful, not red, like the ordinary autumn salvia, but golden, just the colour of your hair!"
And then the two girls would move on to the next vacant space in the flower-bed, and bend over it with trowel and shrinking from worms, and secret whispers would pass, which poor Aunt Cathie longed to hear. But for her it was exciting just to "water freely," and tread down with her large firm feet, and be ready for further orders.
Like all girls, Lucia's friendships at this period of her life were with girls. That they talked over the younger officers of the garrison, and the sons of the Laburnums, and the Fig-trees, and a remarkably interesting curate of St. Faith's, who wore a rope round his chest for purposes of mortification of his flesh, was not to be denied. Miss Wilson's brother had been to bathe with him, and had seen him take it off, before entering the water with a loud flat splash, and the strands of it made red marks on his skin. He had put it on again after leaving the water, and had gone straight to a tennis-party at the Hollies, where he had played with extraordinary skill, and had said a number of tender
