After a swift glance of observation that gave her food for thought she did so.
"You are Brooks, the new gardener?"
The young man inclined his head.
"Yes, madam. The butler said you wanted to speak to me."
Miss Cornelia regarded him anew. His hands look soft--for a gardener's, she thought. And his manners seem much too good for one-- Still-"Come in," she said briskly. The young man advanced another two steps. "You're the man my niece engaged in the city this afternoon?"
"Yes, madam." He seemed a little uneasy under her searching scrutiny. She dropped her eyes.
"I could not verify your references as the Brays are in Canada--" she proceeded.
The young man took an eager step forward. "I am sure if Mrs. Bray were here--" he began, then flushed and stopped, twisting his cap.
"Were here?" said Miss Cornelia in a curious voice. "Are you a professional gardener?"
"Yes." The young man's manner had grown a trifle defiant but Miss Cornelia's next question followed remorselessly.
"Know anything about hardy perennials?" she said in a soothing voice, while Lizzie regarded the interview with wondering eyes.
"Oh. yes," but the young man seemed curiously lacking in confidence. "They--they're the ones that keep their leaves during the winter, aren't they?"
"Come over here--closer--" said Miss Cornelia imperiously. Once more she scrutinized him and this time there was no doubt of his discomfort under her stare.
"Have you had any experience with rubeola?" she queried finally.
"Oh, yes--yes--yes, indeed," the gardener stammered. "Yes."
"And--alopecia?" pursued Miss Cornelia.
The young man seemed to fumble in his mind for the characteristics of such a flower or shrub.
"The dry weather is very hard on alopecia," he asserted finally, and was evidently relieved to see Miss Cornelia receive the statement with a pleasant smile.
"What do you think is the best treatment for urticaria?" she propounded with a highly professional manner.
It appeared to be a catch-question. The young man knotted his brows. Finally a gleam of light seemed to come to him.
"Urticaria frequently needs--er--thinning," he announced decisively.
"Needs scratching you mean!" Miss Cornelia rose with a snort of disdain and faced him. "Young man, urticaria is hives, rubeola is measles, and alopecia is baldness!" she thundered. She waited a moment for his defense. None came.
"Why did you tell me you were a professional gardener?" she went on accusingly. "Why have you come here at this hour of night pretending to be something you're not?"
By all standards of drama the young man should have wilted before her wrath, Instead he suddenly smiled at her, boyishly, and threw up his hands in a gesture of defeat.