“Yes, rather too green,” Mr. Reade rejoined ruefully. “We have had a wet summer, and now we are going to have a wet autumn, I believe, and this place will be nothing but a swamp.”
“Don’t set Miss Christie against the place, Laurence,” said Mr. Rayner rather sharply.
We passed through a low-lying village--some of the houses of which were flooded in winter, Mr. Reade told me--up a hill, down a hill, and up another sloping road, at the side of which stretched the marsh again.
“There is the Alders, Miss Christie,” said he, pointing with his whip to a pretty red house, half covered with ivy and surrounded by trees, which stood below the road, on the borders of the marsh.
“Here, Laurence, I’ll get down and take the short cut,” said Mr. Rayner.
There was a foot-path which led from this point of the road straight to the house through a couple of fields and a plantation. After Mr. Rayner had alighted, Mr. Reade and I drove on by the road.
“What a lovely place!” I cried enthusiastically.
My companion remained silent.
“And, oh, what a beautiful pond! I do believe it has water-lilies!” I exclaimed, turning round half breathless at such a glorious discovery.
“I wouldn’t have that stagnant water near my house for my children to play about for something!” said he, in an energetic growl which surprised me.
I said no more until we drove slowly down the sloping carriage-drive through the trees which led to the house; then again my admiration broke out.
“Oh, how delightfully cool it looks, with the ivy all over it to keep out the hot sun!”
“Yes, and to keep in the cold moisture, Miss Christie. That ivy hasn’t been cut for the last five years; and it ought to be torn down altogether to make the place fit to live in. It is no better than a pest-house!” he went on, getting more and more excited. “I wouldn’t let a laborer live in it!”
“A laborer won’t have a chance until my lease is up, Laurence,” said Mr. Rayner dryly, coming out of a path among the trees. And the two men exchanged looks which showed that at the bottom of their hearts they were not friends.
But then it was not likely that Mr. Rayner would care to hear his beautiful home called a pest-house!
We drove slowly down to the hall door, which was open, and a gaunt untidy-looking servant came out and carried in my boxes. Mr. Reade helped me down and stood by me, apparently examining the harness, while I looked in an ecstasy of admiration at the dark red house thickly covered with ivy, and at the gray stone portico, the pillars of which were stained with picturesque patches of green, while the capitals were overgrown with soft bronze and brown moss. Then he seized a moment, when Mr. Rayner was speaking to the servant, to stoop and say to me quickly, in a low voice--
“Don’t let them put you near Mrs. Rayner’s room.”

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