A Damsel in Distress | Page 2

and that she was smiling because the latter had recently

become engaged to the tall, pleasant-faced youth at her side.
Sherlock Holmes himself might have been misled. One can hear him
explaining the thing to Watson in one of those lightning flashes of
inductive reasoning of his. "It is the only explanation, my dear Watson.
If the lady were merely complimenting the gardener on his rose-garden,
and if her smile were merely caused by the excellent appearance of that
rose-garden, there would be an answering smile on the face of the
gardener. But, as you see, he looks morose and gloomy."
As a matter of fact, the gardener--that is to say, the stocky, brown-faced
man in shirt sleeves and corduroy trousers who was frowning into a can
of whale-oil solution--was the Earl of Marshmoreton, and there were
two reasons for his gloom. He hated to be interrupted while working,
and, furthermore, Lady Caroline Byng always got on his nerves, and
never more so than when, as now, she speculated on the possibility of a
romance between her step-son Reggie and his lordship's daughter
Maud.
Only his intimates would have recognized in this curious
corduroy-trousered figure the seventh Earl of Marshmoreton. The Lord
Marshmoreton who made intermittent appearances in London, who
lunched among bishops at the Athenaeum Club without exciting
remark, was a correctly dressed gentleman whom no one would have
suspected of covering his sturdy legs in anything but the finest cloth.
But if you will glance at your copy of Who's Who, and turn up the
"M's", you will find in the space allotted to the Earl the words
"Hobby--Gardening". To which, in a burst of modest pride, his lordship
has added "Awarded first prize for Hybrid Teas, Temple Flower Show,
1911". The words tell their own story.
Lord Marshmoreton was the most enthusiastic amateur gardener in a
land of enthusiastic amateur gardeners. He lived for his garden. The
love which other men expend on their nearest and dearest Lord
Marshmoreton lavished on seeds, roses and loamy soil. The hatred
which some of his order feel for Socialists and Demagogues Lord
Marshmoreton kept for roseslugs, rose-beetles and the small,
yellowish-white insect which is so depraved and sinister a character

that it goes through life with an alias--being sometimes called a
rose-hopper and sometimes a thrips. A simple soul, Lord
Marshmoreton--mild and pleasant. Yet put him among the thrips, and
he became a dealer-out of death and slaughter, a destroyer in the class
of Attila the Hun and Genghis Khan. Thrips feed on the underside of
rose leaves, sucking their juice and causing them to turn yellow; and
Lord Marshmoreton's views on these things were so rigid that he would
have poured whale-oil solution on his grandmother if he had found her
on the underside of one of his rose leaves sucking its juice.
The only time in the day when he ceased to be the horny-handed toiler
and became the aristocrat was in the evening after dinner, when, egged
on by Lady Caroline, who gave him no rest in the matter--he would
retire to his private study and work on his History of the Family,
assisted by his able secretary, Alice Faraday. His progress on that
massive work was, however, slow. Ten hours in the open air made a
man drowsy, and too often Lord Marshmoreton would fall asleep in
mid-sentence to the annoyance of Miss Faraday, who was a
conscientious girl and liked to earn her salary.
The couple on the terrace had turned. Reggie Byng's face, as he bent
over Maud, was earnest and animated, and even from a distance it was
possible to see how the girl's eyes lit up at what he was saying. She was
hanging on his words. Lady Caroline's smile became more and more
benevolent.
"They make a charming pair," she murmured. "I wonder what dear
Reggie is saying. Perhaps at this very moment--"
She broke off with a sigh of content. She had had her troubles over this
affair. Dear Reggie, usually so plastic in her hands, had displayed an
unaccountable reluctance to offer his agreeable self to Maud--in spite
of the fact that never, not even on the public platform which she
adorned so well, had his step-mother reasoned more clearly than she
did when pointing out to him the advantages of the match. It was not
that Reggie disliked Maud. He admitted that she was a "topper", on
several occasions going so far as to describe her as "absolutely
priceless". But he seemed reluctant to ask her to marry him. How could

Lady Caroline know that Reggie's entire world--or such of it as was not
occupied by racing cars and golf--was filled by Alice Faraday? Reggie
had never told her. He had not even told Miss Faraday.
"Perhaps at this very moment,"