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I find everything wonderful and nothing miraculous. I
reverence the body. I avoid first causes like the plague. You will find
that a pretty good recipe, Denis."
The young man wondered whether the prescription would be of any avail
for his particular complaint.
Then they went into the garden, Mr. Keith hobbling painfully with two
sticks and indulging in very bad language. They paused awhile under
some trellis work covered with a profusion of Japanese convolvuluses,
pale blue, slate colour, rose-tinted, purple, deep red, with white and
coloured bands, a marvellous display of fragile beauty.
"I have never seen anything like it!" declared Denis.
"They die away in winter. I get fresh seeds every year from Japan, the
latest varieties. How they cling for support to the wooden framework!
How delicate and fair! One hardly dares to touch them. Are you always
going to be a convolvulus, Denis?"
"Me? Oh, I see what you mean. Were you never a convolvulus, Mr. Keith?"
His friend laughed.
"It must have been a good while ago.


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