eceived me by speaking as if the watering of a plant was the merest
pastime. He had to leave London for a short provincial tour, and, as I
see now, took advantage of my good nature.

As Gilray had owned his flower-pot for several months, during which
time (I take him at his word) he had watered it daily, he must have
known he was misleading me. He said that you got into the way of
watering a flower-pot regularly just as you wind up your watch. That
certainly is not the case. I always wind up my watch, and I never
watered the flower-pot. Of course, if I had been living in Gilray's
rooms with the thing always before my eyes I might have done so. I
proposed to take it into my chambers at the time, but he would not hear
of that. Why? How Gilray came by this chrysanthemum I do not inquire,
but whether, in the circumstances, he should not have made a clean
breast of it to me is another matter. Undoubtedly it was an unusual
thing to put a man to the trouble of watering a chrysanthemum daily
without giving him its history. My own belief has always been that he
got it in exchange for a pair of boots and his old dressing-gown. He
hints that it was a present; but, as one who knows him well, I may say
that he is the last person a lady would be likely to give a
chrysanthemum to. Besides, if he was so proud of the plant he should
have stayed at home and watered it himself.

He says that I never meant to water it, which is not only a mistake,
but unkind. My plan was to run downstairs immediately after dinner
every evening and give it a thorough watering. One thing or another,
however, came in the way. I often remembered about the chrysanthemum
while I was in the office; but even Gilray could hardly have expected
me to ask leave of absence merely to run home and water his plant. You
must draw the line somewhere, even in a government office. When I
reached home I was tired, inclined to take things easily, and not at
all in a proper condition for watering flower-pots. Then Arcadians
would drop in. I put it to any sensible man or woman, could I have
been expected to give up my friends for the sake of a chrysanthemum?
Again, it was my custom of an evening, if not disturbed, to retire with
my pipe into my cane chair, and there pass the hours communing with
great minds, or, when the mood was on me, trifling with a novel. Often
when I was in the middle of a chapter Gilray's flower-pot stood up
before my eyes crying for wa