"At Wimbledon," he added, remembering just in time how he had told the girls he had no friends at Leabridge.
"You're lucky," said Jane, telling herself that she admired his readiness to be snubbed. "I wish we could get tennis. Yes, I know there's a local club, but we mustn't go making acquaintances. They only eat up your time."
"There's a tennis-lawn here, you know,"said Mr. Rochester. "We could get it in order again, but you'd want a man with a scythe before you could put the mowing-machine over it. By the way, this garden does want a gardener—or gardeners."
Lucilla trembled, but Jane let the opening pass.
"Yes, it does," she said smoothly. "We shall have to think about it, But I've never seen any tennis-lawn. Whereabouts is it?"
"Behind the stables."
"But we've never seen any stables!" said Lucilla.
"Beyond the cottages."
"But there aren't any cottages!"
"Ladies, ladies," said Mr. Rochester, "you haven't half explored your domain. Did you never open the big double door in the garden wall?"
"It's locked."
"Where did you think it led?"
"To the road, I suppose. We never thought about it. Oh, let's go and explore now this minute."
"You can't leave the shop," Lucilla reminded her.
"Besides, the key isn't here; but I'll bring it to-morrow—I mean on Monday."
"Could you perhaps bring it to-morrow," suggested Lucilla, "after you get back from—Wimbledon?"
"About seven? Certainly."
So it was settled.
••••••
And now it was Sunday afternoon. The garden room, all traces of the shop removed, showed itself as a charming parlour elegantly prepared for the reception of the felonious Dix.
