Celia's House Read Online Free Page A

a joke,” Becky replied. “I’m getting older like everybody else. Look at my gray hair!”
    â€œIt’s very becoming,” he retorted. She was a good-looking woman, tall and slim in her neat black dress. Her complexion was clear as a girl’s and her gray eyes full of humor.
    â€œGet on with you, Mr. Humphrey,” she said. “I’m too old for your cozening. You’d better take a walk around the garden and let Miss Dunne have a wee rest before dinner.”
    â€œI hope I haven’t tired her,” Humphrey said.
    â€œI’ve tired myself,” declared Miss Dunne. “I’ve talked too much, but I’ll be all right if I have a rest. Here’s my shawl, Becky.”

Chapter Three
The Red Rose
    Humphrey was shaving. His hair was very dark, and if he wanted to look well he was obliged to shave twice a day. Tonight he felt he must look his best—it was the least he could do for Aunt Celia—besides, she might expect him to kiss her when he said good night. Humphrey was not particularly fond of kissing, but he felt he would like to kiss Aunt Celia. Quite gravely (for he had a grave nature and not much sense of humor) Humphrey considered the question—to kiss or not to kiss. Would she like it or would she think it silly? Better to be prepared anyway , thought Humphrey as he lathered his chin industriously. He had spent the hour before dinner wandering about the grounds, wandering along the banks of the stream, the Rydd Water, which ran through the property, curving past the trees beyond the lawn. He remembered it all very well, but he had looked at it with new eyes, for someday it would be his.
    There were trout in the Rydd, quite good ones. He had seen one lying in the shadow of a rock. Mark would catch that trout someday—he and Mark together—what an exciting, what an amazing thought! Having settled the fate of the trout, Humphrey wandered onto the lawn and examined it carefully. It had looked smooth and velvety from a distance, and it was no less smooth and velvety at close quarters—it would be desecration to cut it up into beds. No wonder Aunt Celia had been angry. Used as he was to wide stretches of sea and far horizons Humphrey took immense pleasure in the smooth, green sweep of grass. It was dignified and gracious; it gave one a feeling of space.
    He walked down to the kitchen garden and found Johnson in the potting shed and renewed his acquaintance. Johnson was friendly and Humphrey felt friendly too, but he was very careful with Johnson, for the news must not leak out through anything he said or did or looked. Humphrey was aware that a look might give away the whole show—a possessive sort of look. He admired Johnson’s peas—which were admirable—and evinced his pleasure when he learned that peas were on the menu for dinner—peas and green gooseberries. He walked down the garden with Johnson and saw how beautifully it was kept. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask how many men were employed in the garden, but on second thought, he refrained from the inquiry.
    â€œThe old greenhouse needs doing up,” said Johnson, pointing to it. “I was wondering if you would mention it to Miss Dunne.”
    â€œNo,” replied Humphrey. “No, I couldn’t do that.”
    â€œIt needs new glass and a wee lick of paint. I thought you might just say you had seen it—”
    â€œNo, I don’t think so.”
    â€œMaybe I’d better wait till Mr. Maurice comes.”
    â€œYes, I should,” said Humphrey, turning away to hide an involuntary smile.
    Johnson might have said more about the greenhouse, but his companion changed the subject.
    â€œWhat are those called?” he asked, pointing to a bed of deep red roses that grew in a sheltered corner near the wall.
    â€œThey’re Duke of Richmond, Mr. Humphrey. Maybe you’d like a few; they’ve got a nice smell.”
    â€œI’ll