During her leisure hours she worked among the flower-beds until her plump hands ached again; but, after all, her leisure hours were very few, and the grass and weeds grew so quickly. Walter saw that the grass was many inches too long, and that it was scattered thickly with withered rose-leaves; that here and there a rose tree was sadly in want of the pruning knife. But that did not make the scent of the flowers any the less delicious; nor did it take from the quiet beauty of their place. There was plenty of light and colour everywhere, and there was beauty.
While looking at the garden, Walter began to think of the gardens mistress--quiet little Dora, living so contented among her children; and in the winter still living here alone, when the flowers had faded, when withered rose-leaves were scattered profusely on the grass, and the leafless branches of the trees bent before the biting breath of the bitter winter wind. It was a pretty picture of Dora--he loved it as we love the creatures of our imagination; it seemed to make Dora belong to him, artistically, as it were, and bring him consolation. Then his reflections took another turn, and he began, for the first time, to think it strange that the little woman should be so much alone.
He said something of this to Dora; and she laughed and blushed, and answered frankly enough.
"Yes, I am a good deal alone. You see, I am in an equivocal position. I am too good for the servants, and not good enough for their mistresses. I am only the governess!"
"At any rate," said Walter, "you have contrived to brighten up what would otherwise have been a very cheerless visit. As a token of my gratitude, will you accept a little present from me?"
"I want no present, sir; your friendly words are quite enough."
"Nonsense! I should like to give you some of the sketches I have made of the village."
"To me! give them to me?" said Dora, with wide-open eyes. "Why, Mr. Hetherington, I thought you wanted them to--to-------"
"Perhaps when I began them I had some notion of that kind in my head; we are all fools sometimes, you know. But I have changed my mind; I don't want to be reminded of this visit. Yes, I shall give you the sketches--that is to say, if you will accept them; and when I have taken my departure--and I shall do so soon--I shall try to forget that such a village as Omberley ever existed at all."