re in a garden, where they were consulting with the
gardener and Father Coleman about the shape of some new beds, for the
critical hour of filling them was approaching. The gardener, like all
head-gardeners, was opinionated. Living always at Vauxe, he had come to
believe that the gardens belonged to him, and that the family were only
occasional visitors; and he treated them accordingly. The lively and
impetuous Lady St. Jerome had a thousand bright fancies, but her morose
attendant never indulged them. She used to deplore his tyranny with
piteous playfulness. "I suppose," she would say, "it is useless to
resist, for I observe 'tis the same everywhere. Lady Roehampton says she
never has her way with her gardens. It is no use speaking to Lord St.
Jerome, for, though he is afraid of nothing else, I am sure he is afraid
of Hawkins."

The only way that Lady St. Jerome could manage Hawkins was through
Father Coleman. Father Coleman, who knew every thing, knew a great deal
about gardens; from the days of Le Notre to those of the fine gentlemen
who now travel about, and when disengaged deign to give us advice.

Father Coleman had only just entered middle-age, was imperturbable and
mild in his manner. He passed his life very much at Vauxe, and imparted
a great deal of knowledge to Mr. Hawkins without apparently being
conscious of so doing. At the bottom of his mind, Mr. Hawkins felt
assured that he had gained several distinguished prizes, mainly through
the hints and guidance of Father Coleman; and thus, though on the
surface, a little surly, he was ruled by Father Coleman, under the
combined influence of self-interest and superior knowledge.

"You find us in a garden without flowers," said Lady St. Jerome; "but
the sun, I think, alway loves these golden yews."

"These are for you, dear uncle," said Clare Arundel, as she gave him a
rich cluster of violets. "Just now the woods are more fragrant than the
gardens, and these are the produce of our morning walk. I could have
brought you some primroses, but I do not like to mix violets with any
thing."

"They say primroses make a capital salad," said Lord St. Jerome.

"Barbarian!" exclaimed Lady St. Jerome. "I see you want luncheon; it
must, be ready;" and she took Lothair's arm. "I will show you a portrait
of one of your ancestors," she said; "he married an Arundel."

CHAPTER 14

"Now, you know," said Lady St. Jerome to Lothair in a hushed voice, as
they sat together i