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ceremony.
    With the rose pinned to his lapel, Tom inclines towards her, his figure tall and stooped, his face solemn, almost grave. She stands beside him, both facing the garden, but with their heads turned, eyes upon each other. They hold hands and it is then that he speaks, softly, slowly, almost a whisper, words that are meant for only two people to hear. It is brief,and when he is finished he raises his eyebrows slightly, in the manner of a question. Without hesitation, the moment he has finished, she nods. If, indeed, it is a question that has been asked, it has been answered with a yes.
    He then lets go of her hand, puts his cap back on, reaches into his coat pocket and takes out a small rectangular container, a tin of some sort. She watches, rapt, perfectly still, as he opens it and takes out a gold ring. But it is at this moment that his head jerks up and swings about, his nose, his brow, his eyes those of an eagle as he scans the garden, not so much in search of prey as intrusion. The lightness leaves his features, his eyes are concentrated, his whole bearing one of somebody on guard. It is as though he has heard something. Was it a bird, or was it, surely not, laughter? In front of a manor house that they have been assured is unoccupied, in a garden that should be free of people, he feels disturbed. As if the occasion has been intruded upon, even mocked, the way laughter cheapens a solemn moment, and he now scans the garden with eagle eyes as if seeking out the source of hidden laughter, somewhere out there in the bushes. But the garden is silent apart from the occasional calling of birds, andthe flapping of wings as they dart from one bush, one tree, to another. The eagle then relaxes, becomes Tom again, and turns back to the puzzled face of Emily, who is wondering what on earth could have caught his attention, for she heard nothing.
    He lifts her left hand, as if preparing to bestow a kiss upon it, but instead slips the ring onto her third finger. She then, quite smartly (it is over in a second or two), accepts another ring that he takes from his coat pocket and puts it on his finger. He then kisses her cheek, and she his. The ceremony is done, but they linger, breathing in the moment and the warm autumn air.
    When they are done, they stroll, side by side, back up the central path of the rose garden and soon kneel at the trimmed hedged border of one of the flower beds. Here he drops his cap onto the lawn, then, opening the small rectangular tin, places it on top of the low hedge. Together they unpin the roses and place them gently in the tin. Then he takes a small piece of paper from his coat pocket, and, already folded, places it in the tin with the two white roses. And finally, reluctantly, he slips the ring from his finger and puts it, too, into the tin. He snaps it shut, strolls a few feet back to the arch, picks up astick he noticed as they entered the garden and returns to the flower bed, where he begins to dig a hole with it. The bed has been recently tended, the soil is loose, and the digging is easy. When the hole is deep enough, he buries the tin in the hole and covers it, all in an effort to make it look as though the soil has never been disturbed. But it clearly has. The only article left over from the ceremony is the ring on Emily’s finger. And when she eventually returns to America, she will wear this ring in public. Friends, acquaintances, even strangers, will remark upon the ring, but not to her. And, even if they were to ask, she wouldn’t tell them, for that would be to betray her special friend.
    The tin is consigned to the secret earth, and they both wear the calm, peaceful expression that comes with a job well done. Then there is the sound of a motor car, loud and intrusive, coming from the driveway of the estate. Doors slam. They both look up and exchange anxious glances, then rise from where they have been kneeling and leave through the same archway by which they entered the garden, almost