This revelation
of a kindred spirit had captured him completely. George was merely
among those present.
"Those--them--over there are Ayrshires, missy."
"We don't get Ayrshires in America. At least, I never ran across
them. I suppose they do have them."
"You want the right soil."
"Clay and lots of rain."
"You're right."
There was an earnest expression on Billie Dore's face that George
had never seen there before.
"Say, listen, dadda, in this matter of rose-beetles, what would you
do if--"
George moved away. The conversation was becoming too technical for
him, and he had an idea that he would not be missed. There had come
to him, moreover, in a flash one of those sudden inspirations which
great generals get. He had visited the castle this afternoon
without any settled plan other than a vague hope that he might
somehow see Maud. He now perceived that there was no chance of
doing this. Evidently, on Thursdays, the family went to earth and
remained hidden until the sightseers had gone. But there was
another avenue of communication open to him. This gardener seemed
an exceptionally intelligent man. He could be trusted to deliver a
note to Maud.
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