Lady Eldridge was as direct in her speech and her ways as any woman could be. Yet it did not seem possible to her to embark directly upon the subject of which her mind was full, when Norman and Pamela had gone off, and she and her sister-in-law were left alone together. Clothes were the topic which Mrs. Eldridge seemed eager to discuss, and as if it were the one upon which she had only been waiting to unburden herself. Lady Eldridge allowed herself to drift with the stream, until some landing-place should appear upon which she could set her foot. She was used to humouring Cynthia in this way, who was not easily diverted from any subject in which she was interested, though she would pursue it with many amusing twists and turns, and never made her longest speeches tiresome to listen to. She seemed to be full of spirit this afternoon, and made Lady Eldridge laugh more than once, though she was increasingly anxious to come to terms with her upon the question which must surely be disturbing them both equally.

For nothing had been heard from Hayslope in answer to William's letter. Coombe had written to say that he had paid off the labour, according to instructions, and that was all. She had summoned him that morning on her arrival at the Grange, about plants and flowers for the house, and he had volunteered the information that most of the men who had been working at the garden had been taken on by Colonel Eldridge. This had given her an unpleasant shock, but she had made no comment upon it to him, nor encouraged him to any further disclosures. She had divined from his manner that he was hostile to her brother-in-law, and did not want to hear about what had been happening from him first; nor to let him see that she knew nothing.

At last she found an opening. "Cynthia dear," she said, "I must talk to you about the garden. You must remember that I know nothing yet of what has happened since William wrote."

Mrs. Eldridge did not lay aside the light manner in which she had been carrying on the conversation. "Well, dear," she said, "if you must talk about it I suppose you must. But it's such a tiresome business altogether that I should have thought it would have been better to leave it to the two men. If they are going to fall out about such a thing, I'm sure you and I needn't; and of course they will come together again."

Lady Eldridge thought for a moment. "Of course you and I shan't fall out about it," she said with decision. "But it must have gone a good deal farther than it ought to have done for you to think of such a thing. Why didn't Edmund answer William's letter?"

"Well, there's no difficulty in answering that. His first letter to William seemed to have been so misunderstood that he thought it better not to write any more, but to wait till he came down. Of course he didn't know that he wasn't coming down this week, or perhaps he would have written. I think he was quite right, you know. I advised him myself, when he wrote first of all, not to show irritation. I'm afraid the poor old darling must have done so, and unfortunately he didn't show me what he had written before he sent it. Oh, I think it's so much better not to write letters which may be misunderstood. I didn't answer yours for the same reason, though I know you wouldn't misunderstand. Well, perhaps that wasn't quite the reason. I didn't want to mix myself up in it."

Lady Eldridge's spirits had lightened during the course of this speech. "I'm so glad it was like that," she said. "I thought it must have been something of the sort. But do you mean that Edmund didn't want William to give up making the garden?"

"Of course he didn't. He only thought he ought to have been consulted first. I'm bound to say I thought he had been, and I told him so. I was as much in it as you were, in a sort of way. I was interested in the scheme, as you know. I certainly didn't want it given up, and I was disappointed when William threw it all over."

"But—Edmund did object, you know; and pretty strongly. I saw his letter. William felt that he couldn't go on, in the face of that."

"Ye—es. But Edmund would have told him that he hadn't meant him to stop, if he had been given the chance. Men do act hastily when they are a little upset with one another; but it was a pity that William took up the attitude he did, I think. With just a little consideration for Edmund's feelings the trouble would have blown over entirely. Now I'm afraid there is quite a lot to put straight, and it has tried Edmund very much."

"I don't understand it, Cynthia. William wired at once to have the work stopped, according to what he thought were Edmund's wishes. It was a good deal to do under the circumstances, and what could he have done more? Surely, Edmund could easily have put it all straight by firing back that William had misunderstood him, and then—"

"Wiring back, dear! William didn't wire to Edmund. He took no notice of Edmund at all. The first Edmund knew was that Coombe came to tell him that he had dismissed the men. After that what could he do?"

"What he seems to have done was to take the men on himself."

"I'm rather sorry he did do that, because of course he can't afford it, and it will only add to his worries, poor dear! Still, there they were dismissed at a moment's notice, in a fit of temper, you might say, and—"

"Oh, no, Cynthia. It wasn't so. You mustn't say that."

"My dear child, we must be reasonable on both sides if we are to talk it over at all. I've admitted quite frankly on my part that Edmund was hasty in what he first wrote to William, and you ought to admit on yours that William acted in the same way."

"But, Cynthia dear, I know. William was annoyed, but after he had talked it all over he got rid of his annoyance. I know that it had passed when he wrote."

"Very well, then. But if that is so you must admit that he took an unfortunate way of showing it. To dismiss the men off-hand by wire, to let Edmund hear of it first from Coombe, and then—"

"I do admit that that was unfortunate. I'm quite sure that it never occurred to him—it didn't to me—that it would look as if—"

"And then his letter the next morning! That put Edmund's back up more than anything."

Lady Eldridge threw out her hands in a gesture of despair. "Oh, I give it up," she said. "Everything seems to have been taken in the wrong way. I did think that two brothers who have been so much to each other as Edmund and William ought to be able to settle an absurd dispute of this sort without all this misunderstanding."

"That's exactly what I think. And if you and I are to mix ourselves up in it at all, we ought to try to clear up the misunderstandings."

"Yes, I want to do that. Tell me why William's letter should have put Edmund's back up more than anything."

"It's rather difficult, you see. You mustn't be impatient with me. You know that I am very fond of William, but you can't expect me to see him in quite the same light as you do, any more than you can see Edmund in the same light as I do. And you must remember that I'm trying to make peace all the time. Still, I see things with Edmund's eyes to some extent, and after what had happened the day before I don't think it was unreasonable of him to object to being told in so many words that William couldn't be expected to take seriously things that he thought so important, especially Hayslope, which was only a very small corner of the world."

"Oh, Cynthia, what an absurd coil it all is! William can't have written that. I know the mood he was in when he went away to write."

"Well, dear, he did write it, and you must forgive me for saying that that attitude in him is continually coming out. This bother about the garden is only a symptom of it. It is the attitude itself that so annoys Edmund. I know that William is much higher up in the world now than my poor old man. But he ought not to want to rub it in, Eleanor. After all, Edmund is the older brother, and the head of the family. You can't defend William telling him that Hayslope is of very little importance. It's all he has in the world. Poor dear, he did his duty as a soldier during the war. I'm not saying he did more than William; but just look at the difference in the rewards they have got! Edmund will be a poor man for the rest of his life, because of the war, while William is rich and honoured."

"He isn't rich because of the war."

"Oh, no! I don't mean that at all. I should never say such a thing, or think it. And as for his knighthood, one knows that honours are given to the men who do the sort of work that he did, while a soldier's work is just taken as a matter of course. You know that it would never occur to me to feel jealousy on that score, which is why I can put it quite plainly. Edmund doesn't feel it either, and he is proud of William's success; he has often said so. But still, here, Edmund ought not to be considered of less account than William. There! I have said it quite plainly, and you mustn't be offended."

"No, I'm not offended; though it makes me rather sad that all that should have to be said, because it is practically the same as William says himself, and tries to act upon. He did so in this very matter of the garden; but see how it has turned out! Edmund takes it as an offence that he should instantly have carried out what he thought were his wishes."

"But did he really mean to give up the garden, Eleanor? I will tell you frankly now, as we have gone so far, that Edmund's idea is that he hoped he would beg him not to. You wrote to me, you know, asking me to influence Edmund to do that."

"Not quite, Cynthia. At least—well—"

"You did, dear; and I should have tried to make the peace in that way, if it hadn't gone so far. I'm afraid you must admit that William acted hastily—I don't say more than that—and if he did expect Edmund to climb down, as Edmund believes—well, that's just exactly the spirit that I've been trying to point out to you is so objectionable to Edmund."

"Oh, it's all so different, Cynthia, from what happened on our side. Climb down! There was no such idea in William's mind. Can't we get it straight? Supposing William apologizes to Edmund for anything that may have displeased him! I believe he would be ready to do that. And you mustn't forget Edmund's first letter to him, which you have acknowledged yourself—and I saw—was very dictatorial, and even offensive, though perhaps it was not meant to be so."

"Offensive! No, I shouldn't quite admit that."

"You say you didn't see it, dear. Among other things, he accused William of vulgarity."

"Vulgarity!" Mrs. Eldridge showed some surprise. "Well, of course that would be rather strong. But—"

"William is careless about Edmund's position here, you say. Very well. He doesn't mean to be, and perhaps Edmund doesn't mean to be dictatorial. But he is, you know, towards William; and considering the high estimation in which William is held, and the kind of people he mixes with, upon equal terms, it is sometimes rather difficult to put up with."

"Isn't all that rather apt to be pressed home upon us, dear? Not by you—I don't mean that. Naturally you are proud of the estimation in which William is held. I should be myself if I were in your place. But Edmund feels, I think, that he might be spared some of William's reminders on that point. In the very letter he wrote about the garden, in which he said that Hayslope couldn't be expected to be of such importance to him as it was to Edmund, he prepared the way by telling him of all the great people he was consorting with—as you say, upon equal terms."

"Which is exactly what I did, when I wrote to you after we had come back from Wellsbury. We were there on equal terms, you know; we didn't dine in the servants' hall."

"Oh, my dear, you mustn't take it in that way, or we may as well leave off talking about it altogether. I didn't show annoyance when you accused Edmund just now of being dictatorial and offensive. Don't let us fall out with one another, or everything is lost."

Lady Eldridge sat more erect in her chair. "We must end it all," she said. "Neither you nor I want it to go on. Let us leave off finding faults in the other side, and admit that both sides have made mistakes. It was unfortunate that William should have wired to Coombe, and sent no message to Edmund at the same time. It's easy enough to see that now; but at the time it didn't occur to me, who was very anxious that offence should not be given, and I'm sure it didn't occur to William. I have told you, anyhow, that his resentment over Edmund's letter had passed over; so that can be cleared out of the way. Edmund need think no more about it. Now let us get William's mistake cleared out of the way. Tell Edmund that it was only carelessness on William's part that led to this new trouble, that I much regret it, now it has been pointed out to me, and that I'm sure William will when he knows the effect it had. Will you do that, Cynthia?"

"Yes, dear, of course I will. Don't let us have any more letters. Let us wait until you come down again next week, and then Edmund and William can talk it all over together, and I'm sure at the end of it they will be as good friends as before."

Lady Eldridge breathed an audible sigh of relief, and smiled. "We have talked pretty plainly to one another," she said. "I am so glad that we can. What a lot of trouble that unfortunate garden plan of ours has made! And it looked as if we were all going to amuse ourselves so much with it."

"Oh, and I hope we shall. Do you know, I think Edmund is as much disappointed at the idea of its being given up as anybody. I haven't told you yet—we seem to have been talking about all sorts of outside things—that he was going to send a long telegram to William asking him to go on with it, even after Coombe had come to him and refused to take his orders."

Lady Eldridge seemed quite at a loss. She stared at her and said quietly: "No, you never told me that. I didn't know that Coombe had been to Edmund at all."

"How did you think he knew, then, that the men had been paid off? You haven't done my poor old Edmund quite justice, you know, Eleanor—but I don't want to begin on that again. He was naturally upset at hearing of it first from Coombe, and yet he was going to wire to William. In fact, he was going to climb down."

Lady Eldridge passed this by with a slight contraction of the brows. "What prevented him from writing?" she asked.

"Oh, I haven't told you that. The labourers who had been dismissed came to him, and said they wouldn't go on working under Coombe. I'm afraid William will have to get rid of that man, Eleanor. The way he has behaved is perfectly outrageous. In fact, but for him, the garden might have been half finished by this time."

There was a moment's pause. Then Lady Eldridge said: "This is something quite new again. You must tell me everything, please, Cynthia."

"I don't know that there's much more to tell, dear. Coombe quite obviously came to Edmund to crow over him, though of course he pretended to be respectful. But when Edmund told him that there had been a mistake and that the work was to go on, he said he had had his orders and must abide by them. So what else could he have come for?"

"What did he say he had come for? I'm not defending him, but this is serious. I want to know exactly what happened."

"Oh, he pretended that the men who had been dismissed might make a disturbance in the village. So ridiculous! Two of them are Edmund's own tenants, and the other two are most respectable men, and one of them is a teetotaller. Edmund says he has seldom had work better done than they are doing it now."

"I wish William were here. Coombe has never given us any cause for dissatisfaction, and this is quite a new light on him."

"And afterwards it came out that he had spoken in the most impertinent way about Edmund to these very men; so much so, that old Jackson wouldn't put up with it, and all of them would have refused to go on working under him if he had been told to go on—by William, I mean, for he had been told to go on by Edmund and had refused to do so. The fact is, I suppose he had got into a mess with his men, and thought he could shift the blame on to Edmund. You see, dear,—take it all round—it was really impossible that the work should be taken up again. Still, I quite hope that it may be, later, and be finished in time for the autumn planting. There isn't any violent hurry, is there?"

"No. But whether the garden is made or not seems so unimportant now in the face of all these complications. I think I won't say anything to Coombe myself, but will wait until William comes down. What was it actually that he said to the men about Edmund?"

"Oh, it was outrageous; but it shows the sort of feeling that has grown up with regard to Edmund and William. He told them that Edmund was desperately jealous of William on account of his title and his money, and that if this work they were doing was stopped they would have him to thank for it, for he hated William doing anything at Hayslope. Then of course he had been paying them more than the current rate of wages—I suppose William didn't know that—which made it difficult for Edmund when it came to employing them himself. But there they are, working for us at less than they were paid here, and refusing to go on under Coombe at the higher rate. So you see that Edmund is still respected by the villagers and work-people, in spite of all the difficulties that have been made."

Lady Eldridge arose somewhat abruptly. "We seem to have got back to general criticism," she said, "which I thought we had put behind us. I am not going on with that, Cynthia. I think we had better leave it alone altogether until William comes down. See, the rain has stopped. Let us go out."