Walters was a gardener once, and his whole life is wrapped up in the courtyard on which my balcony looks down.

There he spends his time, while up above the dust gathers in the corners-- Does this picture distress you, my lady?
You should see the courtyard! You would not blame Walters then.

It is a sample of Paradise left at our door--that courtyard.

As English as a hedge, as neat, as beautiful.
London is a roar somewhere beyond; between our court and the great city is a magic gate, forever closed.

It was the court that led me to take these rooms.
And, since you are one who loves mystery, I am going to relate to you the odd chain of circumstances that brought me here.
For the first link in that chain we must go back to Interlaken.