lf from the west toast-rack.

It is very delightful to have a flat in London, but there are times in
the summer when I long for a garden of my own. I show people round our
little place, and I point out hopefully the Hot Tap Doultonii in the
scullery, and the Dorothy Perkins doormat, but it isn't the same thing as
taking your guest round your garden and telling him that what you really
want is rain. Until I can do that, the Chelsea Flower Show is no place
for us.

"Then I haven't told you the good news," said Celia. "We _are_
gardeners." She paused a moment for effect. "I have ordered a
window-box."

I dropped the marmalade and jumped up eagerly.

"But this is glorious news! I haven't been so excited since I recognized
a calceolaria last year, and told my host it was a calceolaria just
before he told me. A window-box! What's in it?"

"Pink geraniums and--and pink geraniums, and--er--"

"Pink geraniums?" I suggested.

"Yes. They're very pretty, you know."

"I know. But I could have wished for something more difficult. If we had
something like--well, I don't want to seem to harp on it, but say
calceolarias, then quite a lot of people mightn't recognize them, and I
should be able to tell them what they were. I should be able to show them
the calceolarias; you can't show people the geraniums."

"You can say, 'What do you think of _that_ for a geranium?'" said Celia.
"Anyhow," she added, "you've got to take me to the Flower Show now."

"Of course I will. It is not only a pleasure, but a duty. As gardeners we
must keep up with floricultural progress. Even though we start with pink
geraniums now, we may have--er--calceolarias next year. Rotation of crops
and--what not."

Accordingly we made our way in the afternoon to the Show.

"I think we're a little over-dressed," I said as we paid our shillings.
"We ought to look as if we'd just run up from our little window-box in
the country and were going back by the last train. I should be in
gaiters, really."

"Our little window-box is not in the country," objected Celia. "It's what
you might call a _pied de terre_ in town. French joke," she added kindly.
"Much more difficult than the ordinary sort."

"Don't forget it; we can always use it again on visitors. Now what shall
we look at first?"

"The flowers first; then the tea."

I had bought a catalogue and was scanning it rapidly.

"We don't want flowers," I said. "Our window-box--our garden is already
full. It ma