"Now—what do you think of my Roof Garden?"
Lady Leason turned to McTaggart with a conscious air of triumph.
"Isn't it nice?—and I planned it myself!" She was like a child with a new toy, her still young face eager and bright under her soft gray hair.
"I think it perfect," said McTaggart, warmly. He glanced around him as he spoke at the awning, striped with green, the basket chairs, gay red cushions, and the coarse rush matting beneath his feet.
For the leaded roof of the smoking-room, that was built out into the garden, had been transformed, with the help of green lattice work and great tubs filled with geraniums and daisies, into a sort of lounge, protected by the striped tent cloth.
"I'm growing golden hops in this box at the edge to twine up the supports and along the lattices, and
