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“Oh, I thought last season was the great one.”

“It was spoilt by the Coronation, the papers say. You remember how busy we were at the Abbey; we hadn’t time for anything else.”

“What else do the papers say? I seem to have missed them lately. I’ve had a thousand things to do.”

“Well, the Sardine Defence League has just been formed. I think of putting up for it. I suppose you have to swear to do one kind action to a sardine everyday. Let’s both join, and then we shall probably get a lot of invitations.”

“Do they have a tent at the Eton and Harrow match?” asked Miss Middleton anxiously.

“I will inquire. I wonder if there is a Vice-Presidency vacant. I should think a Vice-President of the Sardine Defence League could go anywhere.”

“V.P.S.D.L.,” said Miss Middleton thoughtfully. “It would look splendid. I must remember to send you a postcard to-morrow.”

Tea came, and I put my deck-chair one rung up to meet it. It is difficult in a horizontal position to drink without spilling anything, and it looks so bad to go about covered with tea.

“This is very jolly,” I said. “Do you know that my view during working hours consists of two broken windows and fifty square feet of brick? It’s not enough. It’s not what I call a vista. On fine days I have to go outside to see whether the sun is shining.”

“You oughtn’t to want to look out of the window when you’re working. You’ll never be a Mayor.”

“Well, it all makes me appreciate the country properly. I wish I knew more about gardens. Tell me all about yours. When are the raspberries ripe?”

“Not till the end of June.”

“I was afraid you’d say that. May I come down and see your garden at the end of June–one day when I’m not at Earl’s Court? You can give all the gardeners a holiday that day. I hate to be watched when I’m looking at flowers and things.”

“Are you as fond of raspberries as all that? Why didn’t I know?”

“I’m not a bit mad about them, really, but they’re a symbol of Summer. On a sloshy day in November, as I grope my way through the fog, I say to myself, ‘Courage, the raspberries will soon be ripe.'”

“But that means that summer is half over. The cuckoo is what I’m listening for all through November. I heard it in April this year.”

I looked round to see that nobody was within earshot.

“I haven’t heard it yet,” I confessed. “It wasn’t really so much to see the lobretias as to hear the cuckoo that I came to have tea with you. I feel just the same about it; it’s the beginning of everything. And I said to myself, ‘Miss Middleton may not have a first-rate show of lobretias, because possibly it is an unfavourable soil for them, or they may not fit in with the colour scheme; but she does know what is essential to a proper garden, and she’ll have a cuckoo.'”

“Yes, we do ourselves very well,” said Miss Middleton confidently.

“Well, I didn’t like to say anything about it before, because I thought it might make you nervous, and so I’ve been talking of other things. But now that the secret is out, I may say that I am quite ready.” I stopped and listened intently with my head on one side.

There was an appalling silence.

“I don’t seem to hear it,” I said at last.

“But I haven’t heard it here yet,” Miss Middleton protested. “It was in Hampshire. The cuckoos here are always a bit late. You see, our garden takes a little finding. It isn’t so well known in–in Africa, or wherever they come from–as Hampshire.”

“Yes, but when I’ve come down specially to hear it–“

“CUCK-OO,” said Miss Middleton suddenly, and looked very innocent.

“There, that was the nightingale, but it’s the cuckoo I really want to hear.”

“I AM sorry about it. If you like, I’ll listen to you while you tell me who you think ought to play for England. I can’t make it more summery for you than that. Unless roses are any good?”

“No, don’t bother,” I said in some disappointment; “you’ve done your best. We can’t all have cuckoos any more than we can all have lobretias. I must come again in August, when one of the pioneers may have struggled here. Of course in Hampshire–“

“CUCK-OO,” said somebody from the apple tree.

“There!” cried Miss Middleton.

“That’s much better,” I said. “Now make it come from the laburnum, Lieutenant.”

“I’m not doing it, really!” she said. “At least only the first time.”

“CUCK-OO,” said somebody from the apple tree again.

There was no doubt about it. I let my deck-chair down a rung and prepared to welcome the summer.

“Now,” I said, “we’re off.”