e going to make ours--suddenly," she said.

"So HE old says." She jerked her head at my uncle.

"He won't tell me when--so I can't get anything ready. But it's
coming. Going to ride in our carriage and have a garden. Garden--like a
bishop's."

She finished her bun and twiddled crumbs from her fingers. "I shall be
glad of the garden," she said. "It's going to be a real big one with
rosaries and things. Fountains in it. Pampas grass. Hothouses."

"You'll get it all right," said my uncle, who had reddened a little.

"Grey horses in the carriage, George," she said. "It's nice to think
about when one's dull. And dinners in restaurants often and often. And
theatres--in the stalls. And money and money and money."

"You may joke," said my uncle, and hummed for a moment.

"Just as though an old Porpoise like him would ever make money,"
she said, turning her eyes upon his profile with a sudden lapse to
affection. "He'll just porpoise about."

"I'll do something," said my uncle, "you bet! Zzzz!" and rapped with a
shilling on the marble table.

"When you do you'll have to buy me a new pair of gloves," she said,
"anyhow. That finger's past mending. Look! you Cabbage--you." And she
held the split under his nose, and pulled a face of comical fierceness.

My uncle smiled at these sallies at the time, but afterwards, when I
went back with him to the Pharmacy--the low-class business grew brisker
in the evening and they kept open late--he reverted to it in a low
expository tone. "Your aunt's a bit impatient, George. She gets at me.
It's only natural.... A woman doesn't understand how long it takes
to build up a position. No.... In certain directions now--I
am--quietly--building up a position. Now here.... I get this room. I
have my three assistants. Zzzz. It's a position that, judged by the
criterion of imeedjit income, isn't perhaps so good as I deserve,
but strategically--yes. It's what I want. I make my plans. I rally my
attack."

"What plans," I said, "are you making?"

"Well, George, there's one thing you can rely upon, I'm doing nothing in
a hurry. I turn over this one and that, and I don't talk--indiscreetly.
There's--No! I don't think I can tell you that. And yet, why NOT?"

He got up and closed the door into the shop. "I've told no one," he
remarked, as he sat down again. "I owe you something."

His face flushed slightly, he leant forward over the little table
towards me.

"Listen!" he said.

I listened.

"T