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“She soon ceased to think how cruelly she had sent him away from her, for she had been so young when she did it. And he now gave no thought to what she had done, remembering how young she was when she did it. They were as happy as though she had had all the past that rightfully belonged to her, for he had had enough for both of them.”

“And Jaqui?” asked the Mistress of the House.

“Oh, Jaqui was the happiest of the three of them, happy himself, and happy in their happiness. Never again did he wish the lady in her box. He looked no further for a smaller house which should contain but two floors; he was as glad to stay where he was as they were to have him. They were three very happy people, all of them greatly interested in the progress of scientific investigation.”

“And not one of them deserved to be happy,” said the Daughter of the House.

“But you must remember, miss, this is a story about realities,” said the gardener.

She sighed a little sigh; she knew that where realities are concerned this sort of thing generally happens.

“That is a very good story, John,” said the Mistress of the House, rising from her seat; “but it seems to me that while you were talking you sometimes thought of yourself as Jaqui.”

“There is something in that, madam,” answered the gardener; “it may have been that during the story I sometimes did think that I myself might have been Jaqui.”

“Mamma,” said the Daughter of the House, as the two walked out of the garden, “don’t you think that John Gayther is very intelligent?”

“I have always thought him remarkably intelligent,” her mother replied. “I have noticed that gardeners generally are a thoughtful, intelligent race of men.”

“I don’t think it is so much the garden as because he has travelled so much,” said the young lady, “and I have a strange feeling that he has a story of his own in the past. I wonder if he will ever tell it to me.”

“If he has such a story,” said the elder lady, “he will never tell it to you.”