CHAPTER VIII
When you have just declined the honour of a gentleman's acquaintance and have reason to believe that your declination will be accepted as closing the incident, it is more than disconcerting to have a great strong, thick spoke put in your wheel by an enthusiastic friend who recognises in your rejected fellow-creature his adored hero, and, planting that hero then and there on one of your chairs, stands looking from one of you to the other with a face beaming with joy at the happy coincidence.
"And if the other young lady can't find you enough flowers, sir," said Simmons, "I'll let you 'ave my own bouquet—if the lady will excuse me. It isn't the honour or the kindness I shall be giving away, miss," he added acutely, "only the beautiful flowers."
And with a flourish he produced his pink and green and white bouquet, thrusting the written paper proudly under the nose of the newcomer.
"I couldn't think of it," said the young man strongly; "if I may be excused, I will follow the lady into the garden and explain what it is that I really want."
"But . . ." said Jane.
"Quite so. I understand perfectly," said the young man. "Forgive me if I seem to hurry, won't you? I don't want your friend to take unnecessary trouble."
Jane and Simmons were now left. And instantly Jane had a sudden and piercing conviction that Simmons must be got rid of. It seemed to her that almost everything depended on Simmons' not being there when Lucilla and the stranger should return. With that innocent-serpent wisdom which is
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