’ She thrust him out of the room and made for the stairs. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. " "Och! if he's a friend o' yours, my dear joy, there's no more to be said; and right sorry am I, I struck him. ” She watched his face as he traced his way through these speculative thickets.
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