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CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XI HALCYON DAYS It was the prettiest white cottage imaginable, approached from the road by a flight of irregular steps and a steep little garden, now gay with chrysanthemums. “It’s like one of those toy ‘weather houses,’” said Roger as they mounted the steps. “Does a little lady come out on fine days and a little man on wet ones?” “I don’t know anything about a little man, but you’ll see the little lady directly—at least, I hope so. She’s just like the cottage; you couldn’t imagine anyone else owning it! Oh! did I warn you that she’s a regular Mrs. Malaprop, bless her? She loves using long words, French for preference, and they’re invariably the wrong ones, but she does it with an ineffable air of gentility, and is dreadfully offended if anyone laughs, so be careful! Oh! and be
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